The Hidden Sword: A Tale of Baldur's Gate
by Nikoru Sanzo
Summary: A choice has been made at the crossroads, and a young elf leaves the protection of Gorion and the silence of Candlekeep to seek answers to her heritage. As she journeys through the Coast and into the Heartlands, an apprentice to an enigmatic blacksmith and to forge her own destiny, she comes to understand that not all lessons are of the hammer and sword. AU BG1
1. Crossroads (Book 1)

Standard disclaimers apply. The PC and her Teacher are products of the author's 16-hour commute + workday-weary mind.

An AU BG1 story, inspired by the old samurai films of my childhood.

 _Gentle Reader,_

 _Thank you for alighting upon this humble tale. As Common isn't my native tongue- comments, feedback, and rotten tomatoes would be helpful and appreciated. ^^_

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD : A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 1 : Crossroads**

* * *

It was perfect. _The Plan_.

The elven girl couldn't have arranged and executed a better scheme than this. She had waited for a trading caravan to arrive at the village below the monastery, waited for nightfall when everyone was asleep, and waited for each guard on duty to be where he should be- a pattern memorized from her years of observing and dodging their predictable nightly patrols. The escape nearly foiled by another resident who had caught her, but the girl bought the silence she needed with only a promise – _a pinky promise that she would return one day_. After that, it had been no great effort to pass undetected through a secret door by the Keep's walls, followed by a quick run through the woods and down to the village.

The elf had climbed into one of the wagons while it stood unattended, pleasantly surprised to find it filled, not with vegetables or hay or smelly animals, but with bolts of fine silk and cloth. Clearly it belonged to well-moneyed merchants. She settled herself contentedly upon a pile of cloth and rearranged the loose fabric to better hide herself. A self-satisfied smirk over a job well done and then she was fast asleep.

The wagon came to a lurching halt, jolting her from sleep. Hours must have passed since they left the village, and likely that they've reached another town. Hopefully, some place where she could quietly slip away, make clearer plans and transit to a destination which might lead her to the answers she sought.

Ears pricked at noises coming from outside. One of the traders had alighted and seemed to be discussing with the other men, perhaps confirming directions or whether they should stop to rest the horses. No matter. Her present spot proved comfortable enough to hide her for a while longer.

 _Until she was betrayed by an empty stomach._

Her belly growled a long mournful croaking tune, over and over. A gasp and a woman's surprised cry followed by the sound of someone climbing in, a man's sharp response and words exchanged between them. Heart pounded against her chest with worry as she realized she couldn't understand a word of their conversation.

She peeked through the rolls of cloth, startled at seeing the occupants. _Elves like her!_ Of all the wagons in the caravan, she had stowed away in one owned by elves! And were they speaking in elvish?

Her stomach rumbled again. The elven woman put a finger to her lips and pointed at her hiding place. The girl held back a frightened gasp as the elven man drew out a sword, his eyes trained on her hiding spot like a hawk about to dive upon its prey. He slowly advanced towards her, his steps light and quiet upon the wagon's wooden floor.

Not waiting to be skewered, she scrambled out of the pile and stumbled in front of them. At the sight of the young elf, the man halted and both he and the woman immediately launched into what one would suppose were a million questions.

However, it all sounded to her like rapid-fire gibberish.

She sat upon the floor, not comprehending a single word, blinking in dismay, until she spoke.

"I- I'm sorry. I don't understand you." Her eyes darted around before looking at them again. "Am I in the wrong wagon?" she asked awkwardly.

Her words caught them by surprise. They looked at each other and then at her.

"Who are you, Child?" the elven man finally asked in the Common tongue.

The young elf grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment.

"I'm _Irsellian_. Though people back in Candlekeep just call me _Irse_ for short."

* * *

Against a clear sky the moon shone unhindered by clouds. A cool breeze stirred through the trees and gently rustled the tall grass. Small campfires dotted the side of the road by the caravans and the air was filled with lively chatter frequently punctuated by hearty laughter among the men. A fine night for a walk outside a wagon.

Irse strolled around a bit, glad for the chance to stretch her legs after hours of sitting through a bumpy ride. It had only been a couple of days since the trading caravan left Candlekeep and the girl was still getting used to life on the road. However, she cautiously refrained from voicing any of her discomforts lest she offend Ilphas and Tannyl, the elven couple who were generous enough to take in a stowaway like her instead of returning her to the monastery.

Tannyl sat inside, most likely poring over her ledgers and accounting for the results of last week's trade. Ilphas sang as he tended to the horses, his silvery voice floating through the air with the lilting melody.

Ilphas seemed to have noticed the young elf watching him, her expression appreciative but blank to the emotion of the song.

"Many an elf child would hum along to this familiar refrain," he remarked.

Irse shook her head, self-consciously. "I'm really sorry I can't speak elvish, but I wish I could."

"Indeed, that was clear from the start. A rather unfortunate situation but not surprising , given you were raised by _N'Tel'Quess_ at Candlekeep. It is a citadel of learning and yet they did not teach you the language of your People?" The older elf 's voice carried a hint of frustration.

Tannyl called out from inside the wagon, "Oh, Ilphas! Leave the child be. It's not Irse's fault the humans were remiss in her education but I'm sure they meant well with her." The elven woman poked her head out and cast a kind smile at the girl. "Fret not. We will teach you ourselves and you will be speaking as one born with the tongue by the time we arrive at Waterdeep."

Irse beamed and nodded gratefully. "I would like that very much! I won't disappoint you!"

Ilphas had told her they were silk merchants based in Waterdeep. They had just come from Athkatla in the south and were planning to unload any unsold inventory at Baldur's Gate before returning to their home in the City of Splendors. They could have consigned their goods to a ship, but as Tannyl had said to her, moon elves like them were often driven to travel and see the world, hence their decision to undertake the trade route themselves.

She had been excited to learn from them that a sizable community of elves resided in Waterdeep. If the wisest of the wise in Candlekeep wouldn't give her the answers she needed about her parents and where she came from, then surely her People could. Or at the very least, welcome her.

It wasn't that her foster father- Gorion, and her friends didn't make Candlekeep a home for her. Rather, it was the nagging feeling that something was not as it should be.

For a moment, she imagined Gorion worried and deeply anxious over her disappearance. He would have already seen the note she left for him on the table in her room, telling him not to worry, that she can take care of herself, that she only need to search for the truth for herself and after that she would come back one day.

The young elf felt a twinge of guilt. But never mind that. Better to dwell instead on the possibilities, the places she would see, the answers she could finally have in their company!

She was about to climb in when an arrow struck the side of the wagon.

Caravan guards raised the alarm. "Bandits! We're under attack! To arms!" one of the guards shouted. Able-bodied men and women scrambled to grab weapons while caravan leaders barked orders at the drivers to secure the carriages. The sureness with which they readied themselves suggested that the ambush was not entirely unexpected.

Arrows started coming at them from the west, mostly from the trees and shrubbery flanking the highway road. Ilphas drew his sword. Tannyl likewise alighted, dagger in hand. She took Irse by the shoulders.

"Child, the bandits will be aiming for anyone standing out in the open. Hide yourself as best as you can but do not stay here. Ilphas and I will help in the defense and we will surely draw the enemy to us. Take to the trees and return to us when the fighting is done. Now go and hurry!" Tannyl instructed her.

Irse nodded. She would rather stay by their side but understood that she would only be in their way. "Please be careful," she told Tannyl who gave her a reassuring wink in return.

The young elf darted towards the other wagons, peeking around the corners before moving on. The air was now filled with the clang of swords and shields, cries of the wounded and fallen, the shrieks of women and children. Some of the wagons had been set on fire, the flames casting an angry glow against the black sky.

As Irse weaved her way through the wagons and stumbled over several corpses, she found some human children, a boy and two girls, shaking and huddled under an abandoned carriage. Irse knew their names and parents, having traveled with the caravan for days now. She bent down to try and coax them out of their hiding place. " _Millie? Ara? Tom?_ " Irse whispered to the frightened faces. Hearing their names spoken, the children seemed to calm down a bit.

"It's not safe here. They might look under the wagons. Come with me quick and we'll hide in the woods," she told them. Mercifully, the children, though clearly terrified, nodded their heads and crawled out from under the wagon. Irse helped each child to stand up and herded them in her arms. Several men ran past their wagon, bandits with bloody swords in hands, laughing raucously at the easy haul. Irse pulled the children close to her and did her best to hide them in the shadows. By the mercy of the gods, they escaped notice.

"Stay quiet," she whispered. They tiptoed around the wagons and did their best to keep silent. Finally, only one wagon stood between them and the safe darkness of the forest.

One of the girls seemed to be about Imoen's age. _Eleven or twelve_? Irse's thoughts momentarily lighted upon that human child who lived with the innkeeper – Winthrop, and his wife in Candlekeep Inn, the only guesthouse within the Keep's walls. For as long as the elf could remember, she and Imoen had been together, grown up together, played together, gotten into little troubles together. Irse wondered how Imoen was doing at that moment and if the girl was thinking of her. No matter. At least Imoen was still in Candlekeep – safe, warm, and will live through the night for certain unlike the children Irse held in her arms now.

 _But there's got to be hope. Maybe the bandits wouldn't see them at all. Just a few more steps and they can hide among the trees where with any luck, they can wait out the fighting._

" _Mama_!" one of the children, Tom, cried. He broke free from her arms and scurried off towards the corpse of a woman that lay several feet from them. The dead woman was on her back, eyes open to the night sky, blood soaking her dress. The boy knelt beside her and sobbed, shaking her arm as if it would wake one from death.

Irse gritted her teeth. "Gods! Get back here, kid!" she hissed. Tom wouldn't listen, and the elf turned to the other children, "Go, run to the trees, hide yourselves while I get him." The remaining children, the gods bless their sensibility for ones so young, nodded and scampered away from the wagon and into the shrubbery beyond.

She left the shadow of the wagon and made her way slowly towards the sobbing child, stopping a few paces from him. "Tom! She's gone now! Let's go!" Irse whispered sharply, but loud enough for the child to hear over the din.

"I can't! I can't leave Mama!" little Tom wailed.

A man stepped out from behind a nearby carriage. One of the bandits. There was no mistaking the cruel sneer on his face as he eyed the child while wiping his bloody shortsword on his dingy trousers. He walked swiftly towards Tom and grabbed the boy by the hair. The child screamed in terror.

Irse held out her hands and begged, "Wait! Let him go, please! He's just a kid!"

The bandit looked at her but didn't even acknowledge her plea as he raised his sword to strike at the boy.

Irse didn't have a weapon, nor a spell. If only she had paid more attention when Gorion attempted to teach her magic. Only one thing could be done now.

She shouted and lunged at the bandit with her bare fists. Surprised, the man let go of the child. But before he could swing his sword, Irse had already barreled into him, the weight of her entire body coupled with her momentum pushing him off his feet. Bandit and elf rolled in the grass, and the freed boy shrieked as he ran for the trees.

She found herself on her back and tried to get up as quickly as she could, but the bandit was faster. He straddled the elf, holding his shortsword with one hand like a dagger above her.

He brought his sword down on her head, but by a miracle, she caught the blade between her hands. She gripped it as tightly as she could despite the stinging pain. Blood was streamed from her palms and it seemed to grease the blade now inching towards her face.

With a grunt, the bandit pushed down at the sword with all of his might. The blade raked through her hands but she managed to bring her head to her right and out of the sword's path. But it was not enough. The sword found her left ear. The elf screamed.

The man laughed at the damage he had caused. "Not so pretty with one o' yer pointy ears gone, eh?" he taunted her.

Desperation urged her to keep jabbing at him in spite of the pain. However, he easily swatted at her attempts with his free hand. He raised his sword above her one more time.

 _This is it_. _So this is what it's like to die._

Irse blinked. There were no visions of her life flashing before her eyes, no visions of Gorion's kindly aged face nor of Imoen's bright smiles. Nothing, but the glint of the sword above her eyes, mesmerizing her into a sickening helplessness as she waited for her inevitable end.

A blade pierced through the bandit's chest. As the man jerked violently, the sword pulled back and another hand reached out to shove him off to the side.

Irse lay there with her eyes half-closed while trying to catch her breath. A shadow circled her, accompanied by the sound of a blade being whipped through the air. Perhaps another bandit so eager for another kill that he would slay his own comrade for the chance? She wouldn't be surprised and was too exhausted to care anymore.

"Just make it quick, please," she rasped.

The shadow chuckled and replied in an accented Common, " _I chance upon a fox in another man's snare. I liberate the fox, but the fox begs for death?_ What manner of creatures are these elves?" There was the faint sound of a sword being sheathed into its scabbard.

Irse opened her eyes to regard her rescuer. She recognized his face - one of the men who traveled with the caravan. A blacksmith, an amiable yet quiet man, seemingly not even past his thirties, she recalled. But from his sharp features, narrow eyes, and coal-black hair, it was clear he wasn't from any of the cities of the Coast. _Where was he from again?_ Irse tried to remember what she had heard about him. _Kara-Tur, was it?_

"Young elf, I saw what you did and I would have come to you sooner had I not been tarried by several more of these ruffians. It was brave of you to face him without a weapon. Brave, but foolish," he chided her as he bent down to grab her elbows and help her stand.

Irse still felt faint from the struggle and her hands continued to shake. She brought a hand to her left ear and gasped. All of it, a swollen wet mass. Blood trickled down her neck and the pain simply excruciating. _But she was alive._

"Thank you for saving me, uh, Mister- _Ohh-_ ," Irse told the blacksmith, trying to recollect his name from what she had heard him being called by the other travelers.

"I am Munechika Okami. Or _Okami_ for expediency, if you prefer," he replied with a deep bow. "You are _Irse_ , am I correct? I have seen you with the elf merchants, though I confess I noticed only after our caravan left Candlekeep."

"Yes, I'm Irse. I travel with Ilphas and Tannyl," she answered, slightly matching his bow which she assumed was a custom among his people. Irse suddenly remembered the couple and wondered where they could be. She hoped they were all right and with less wounds than she has. Irse continued to press her injured ear with one hand and looked around her, noticing that the sounds of battle have died down.

"Is it over?" she asked.

The blacksmith turned his eyes to the night sky, still red from the fires. "Yes. It seems these cursed outlaws have already taken what they want." He looked down and shook his head. "Many of our number have fallen tonight. If you are able, come and let us gather them for their final sojourn to the gods."

The pair ambled towards the other survivors who had begun to assemble. As they passed by some of the burning carriages, Irse took advantage of the firelight to look at her hands, wincing at the throbbing pain and the blood covering them. The blade had cut deep. Okami stopped walking and took her palms in his hands.

"Ah, saved by your instinct. A technique employed at the right moment, but there is a way to do it without losing your hands," he remarked. He reached into his cloak and fished out some bandages and a small brown pouch. He placed them on Irse's fingers.

"Wash your ear and hands with water, put the herbs, the _San Qi_ , on the wounds and wrap them with the bandages. I would attend to you myself, but there may be others in greater need."

Irse raised an eyebrow. "Are you also a healer? A priest?"

"No, but when you have walked in my sandals, you learn to make do without their gods' blessings," Okami replied.

"All right, I guess. Well, thanks again," Irse said. She shrugged her shoulders and set off to find the children who ran into the woods. Thankfully, they had not gone far and were promptly reunited with those who survived in their families. Except for poor Tom. The boy continued to cry as Irse left him in the care of the other humans who survived the attack.

She found a nearby stream and knelt down, plunging her hands into the water and wincing at the numbing iciness. Others made their way to the brook to clean their wounds or draw water to put out the fires. Others simply sat at the bank and stared in shock.

As she rubbed the blood from her hands, she remembered how back in Candlekeep, she would stay by the kitchens after supper and listen to the guards share stories about bandit attacks along the Sword Coast. Listening to their tales of the swiftness and suddenness of the ambush, the ransacking and the deaths were nothing compared to hearing for herself the crying and wailing of the grieving, the wounded, and the hopeless.

Before the attack, she would sit by the campfire every night to bask in the happy conversation and smiling faces looking forward to the next day's venture and perhaps to the loved ones waiting for them at home. But now, there was only grief in everyone's faces over the loss of companions and wretchedness over the uncertainty of facing tomorrow with nothing left.

With a shudder, the girl remembered the delight with which the bandits took in killing and looting that night. How anyone could simply go about and decide to harm another for no reason, even for money, was something she couldn't comprehend. Her blood boiled at the recollection of the glee and ease that the bandit had expressed earlier when he tried to kill her and the boy.

Irse pressed at her injured ear and clenched her fist in anger. _She would not be helpless again._

After cleaning and bandaging her wounds, she made her way back to the elves' wagon. Along the way, she would stop and help someone turn over a corpse or guide someone wounded to where the caravan leaders were gathering the slain and injured.

She found Ilphas and Tannyl not far from their wagon. They lay together, side by side, having fallen to the bandits' arrows and blades. Ilphas was missing his beautiful sword, a silvery elven blade graced with rubies at the pommel. Likewise, Tannyl was missing her jeweled dagger as well as her necklace and earrings. The bandits have undoubtedly looted their corpses while they were still warm.

Irse sighed as she closed their eyes. Their faces showed peace even in their death. Where did the spirits of elves go when they die? Irse tried to recall from the books she had managed to sneak into her room in Candlekeep, for what felt like ages ago. _Arvandor_. She wondered. _Would she go there too when it was her time?_

She hooked her forearms under Tannyl's shoulders and dragged the body towards the pyre. She saw Okami approach Ilphas and hoist the dead elf on his shoulders. They both made their way to the fire with their grim burdens.

* * *

At last, the fire died down and the sun rose upon them. The survivors, having said their farewells to the departed, have now drifted away along with the pyre's ashes blown by the wind. Most of them retrieved whatever they could from their wagons to resume their journeys on foot. The bandits had been thorough and had also taken their horses.

Irse returned to the elves' wagon to gather her pack and salvage some of their valuables – some gold and a few jewels that she once spied Tannyl was stowing under a false plank in the wagon floor. These should last her for quite a while. Certainly, they would forgive her for taking from them. After all, where they have already gone to was a far better place than here. When she had finished packing, Irse walked over to the highway road. Okami was already standing there, carrying two sacks- one for his belongings and another for his tools.

"I am sorry for the loss of your parents," he said.

Irse shook her head. "They're not my parents. They were just kind enough to take me in."

"Ah."

They both stood in silence for a while.

The blacksmith pointed to the winding length of the road. "I shall continue to make my way through the Coast or further into the Heartlands, to any place where people dwell and perhaps may need my services as a smith and tinkerer. But as for you, where will your feet take you?" Okami asked her.

"I- don't know," Irse replied.

She was about to take a step, _but to where_? Waterdeep had been her expected destination, but it was with Ilphas and Tannyl who were now dead.

Her feet felt rooted to the dust of the road. She gingerly rubbed the bandage on her ear.

Okami must have sensed her hesitation. "Young elf, if you still wish to continue your own journey, know this – in your state, you are prey to the world. You cannot hope to survive as you did last night. Not on your own."

She turned her eyes to him. "You're right. I got lucky. Maybe… you could let me come with you? Just for a short while until I know what I need to… where I must…", her words broke off, hoping her appeal wouldn't be turned down so harshly.

The blacksmith interjected with a kind smile, "Why not? I will welcome your company." He crossed his arms and held up a finger. "But, you must earn your keep."

Her eyes widened in relief. She could scarcely believe her luck. "Really? You would? I can learn _anything_. I did chores around the monastery so I'm no stranger to hard work, you see. So- does that mean I'll have to call you _Master_ from now on?" she asked with a grin.

It was Okami's turn to broaden his eyes in surprise. He pointed to himself. "A _Master_?" He coughed. "This one is not worthy of lofty titles. No."

"Then what shall I call you if I am to work for you?"

The blacksmith scratched the thin beard on his chin. "I have not had an apprentice for a while. Perhaps, _Teacher_ will do," he proposed.

Irse considered his offer for a moment as she rubbed her tired eyes. _Should she truly take it?_ Standing upon the middle of the road, Irse looked to the direction behind her.

The road behind her would lead back to Candlekeep. _To Gorion_. The only family she had ever known and doubtless he cared for her as if she was his own human child.

Her resolve wavered for a moment.

 _Maybe Gorion was right and the gods never meant for her to know the truth about her parents. Maybe she could still return there and live the rest of her days pretending that everything was right and settled._

But the road returning to Candlekeep would only lead back to questions that may never be answered and to doors that she feared will remain closed forever.

A soft breeze gently stirred her hair, and she closed her eyes. To her ears came Okami's footsteps upon the grit of the road, wordlessly walking away from her.

She then opened her eyes and steeled herself as she turned to the road ahead of her.

Irse took a step, the first in a thousand ones.


	2. Taking Root (Book 1)

Standard disclaimers apply. All BG characters belong to Bioware except for Irse and Okami who sprang fully-grown and stocked with kaffa from the author's regulatory audit-weary mind. An inordinate amount of events will not be following the in-game story.

Many thanks to all readers and reviewers. Your kind words are a constant source of motivation. I hope this story brings a smile to your day as writing this has brought one to mine. ^_^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 2 : Taking Root**

* * *

For a moment she was confused. Instead of wooden beams above and bare stone walls around, she was greeted by the open sky - a quiet expanse of pale rose behind clouds tinged with the gold of the rising sun.

Irse sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and glanced around. _Where was she again?_

All around her the horizon and trees and a view of the road not too far off. A moment more and she remembered she was no longer in Candlekeep. Even with the days between its gates and the morning now, the Keep's walls sometimes still cast a shadow on her waking.

A savory aroma drifted over from a kettle sitting atop a small fire. Okami stirred the porridge and sprinkled in some salt and herbs.

"Good morning," he hailed with a slight nod of his head.

"Good morning as well," she yawned with a wave of her hand. Irse got up and collected her bedroll, dusting and shaking the cloth before folding and tucking it into her pack. She walked over to Okami who ladled the porridge into a wooden bowl which he handed to her. The elf settled herself cross-legged by the fire.

Murmuring her thanks, she cupped the warm bowl in her hands and breathed in the steam. "We're heading north, Teacher?" she asked.

"We are. I have traversed the Coast Way before. Between here and the Gate we will find a few farms where we may seek shelter or coin in exchange for whatever service I can provide according to my skills."

"And I'll be helping," she reminded him with an eager grin before slurping the porridge.

"Of course." He poured some of the gruel for himself. "Though not fully until your hands have healed."

Irse nestled the bowl on her lap and held up both bandaged palms. "Is there anything a hammer and nails can't fix?" she teased.

The blacksmith smiled and shook his head.

* * *

Breakfast was quickly finished, the remains of the small campfire cleaned. Man and elf set off for the road, bellies full and spirits high with the day's promise of good weather for traveling. Spring had already rolled into summer, the skies infinitely clear and the meadows by the road spread out like a sea of green dotted with the pinks and blues and yellows of wildflowers before ending at the borders of the thick woodlands beyond.

Every other hour they met other travelers – smaller merchant caravans of less than a half dozen wagons, or farmers ambling alongside hay-filled carts pulled by the most-tired looking mules in the realm.

Nothing more than passing glances were thrown their way – for what threat could be posed by a lean foreigner in humble travel-worn clothes, and a scrawny and lanky elf with bandages?

But there were other trekkers making their way north, perhaps to Baldur's Gate or further to Waterdeep or all the way to Neverwinter, and even Icewind Dale. Places she had never seen, all mere names on a map she once saw spread across Gorion's desk back at home in Candlekeep.

 _Home. Candlekeep. But to these other travelers, also another name on the map._

Northbound folks who passed them by, of them she took no more notice. But with those heading south, she would turn her head and followed them with her eyes until her neck hurt or her foot stumbled on a rock she should have seen ahead. But she couldn't help herself.

In her few days with the merchant caravan, she had always looked to the road behind them. Fearful that the Watchers would suddenly appear, her juvenile imagination always pictured them carrying chains and manacles; though they were mostly kind to her, they still answered to Master Ulraunt, Keeper of the Tomes. Each time, a little lump of fear crept up to her chest that she worked hard to smother with thoughts of freedom and adventure. But none of them ever came for her. Perhaps Gorion had accepted her decision or that Ulraunt was only too happy to be rid of her.

But now, each step felt like a thousand leagues and a hundred days; each time she looked back, the cord seemed to stretch tighter and tighter between her and the horizon to the south. _But what else could she do then?_

Another merchant caravan passed them by, going the opposite direction. Her head turned to look at them, then back to the road before her, then to them again.

Okami seemed to have taken notice of her habit. He cleared his throat. "In my homeland of Kozakura, we have a proverb– ' _He who looks not to where he began, shall never find the path to his journey's end_ ' _."_

"Oh, that's… wise," Irse agreed absently, her eyes still following the other group, casting unthinking glances in front of her every other second.

"Yes, a wisdom you are demonstrating now. For the mark of a great sage is inattention to the road, most especially to an imminent pile of dung ahead."

"Wha-?" Irse stammered as she finally looked down at her feet, inches before she nearly stomped on a mound of cow dung right in front of her. Without thinking, she overstepped to keep from tramping through the slurry but lost her balance as she pitched forward.

She was sure her face was about to make friends with the rocky ground but Okami suddenly extended his arm before her. Instinctively her hands reached out to grasp at him and though her knees buckled ungainly, her feet connected again with the earth.

"Thanks," she wheezed as she straightened herself and let go of him.

"Do not thank me. Thank the beast that dropped only one in your path," Okami replied, his expression indifferent. The man resumed his walk without another glance at her.

A flush ran up her cheeks, embarrassment curling her stomach. The elf snorted indignantly and quickened her steps.

* * *

"I assume Candlekeep has its own forge and that you have seen its smith engaged in metalwork? I wish to know how familiar you are with the practice," Okami inquired, adjusting his conical woven hat to shield his face from the sun.

Irse pulled back the hood from her face as she turned to him to reply. "We do have a smithy and it's run by one of the Avowed." Her eyes suddenly became downcast. "But I'm forbidden to ever step foot inside."

Okami seemed puzzled. "I understand if such were to protect you when you were a child, but your words suggest the command holds until now. _"_

"There _was_ a bit of an accident, Teacher," she explained, trying to sound nonchalant though with effort. After all, it had happened so long ago that hopefully it wouldn't matter anymore, especially to her new mentor.

"A _very minor_ accident. You see…"

 _It was years ago. Irse was about ten and Imoen may have been seven then. While Brother Albert was busy pottering about inside the smithy, she had sneaked in to grab a pair of pincers and a small hammer in a rack by the doorway, then quietly ran back to an eagerly waiting little Imoen._

" _You take the pincers, imagine it's a dragon's mouth," Irse had coached her friend, showing her how to scissor the tool as if it were the snapping jaws of a great monster._

 _Imoen, ever keen for pretend play, giddily received the pincers from the older girl. "Yay! But what're you gonna be?"_

 _Proudly, Irse had rested the small rusty mallet on her shoulder. "Me? I'm the fearless paladin that's why I get this shiny holy silver hammer!"_

 _With giggles and shrieks the two girls played heroes and magical beasts. But a greater threat to the little adventurers suddenly appeared in the horizon._

" _You two! Return those tools this instant!" Brother Albert scolded at them, standing at the doorway. "And get over here! You will sweep the floor and clean the smithy as punishment unless you prefer a sentence from Master Ulraunt! Or perhaps I should brand you with a flaming poker to warn the world for the miniature miscreants that you are!" And then the monk retreated back inside to make good his threat._

 _The two girls had stared at the doorway, shrugged their shoulders and resumed their play._

" _How'd the knights say it in the books? Oh, yeah - Die, Evil Dragon!" Irse shouted as she swung the hammer at the snapping pincers, taking great care not to hit her little friend._

" _I smite you in the name of - Whoops!"_

 _But not enough care to keep the hammer from slipping from her hands. The tool sailed away, spinning through the air and straight for the smithy's window where it smashed through glass._

 _With open mouths the girls listened in to the clattering of metal implements and a pitched scream. Brother Albert had suddenly run outside, his robes smoking. He had jumped into a long wooden trough, posterior first. With legs dangling out, he sat there as he frantically splashed murky water all over his lower half. Poor monk had accidentally branded himself with a hot poker after having been startled by the hammer crashing through the window._

 _The hole in the window had earned them a week without supper. The burn hole in his robes near where his manhood would be had earned her a lifetime ban from the Keep's smithy._

But it was worth it. Brother Albert was one of those monks always brownnosing to Ulraunt, who for some reason had always been ill-disposed towards the young elf. At the time, Gorion lectured on her with extra sternness, the expression on his face strangely contorted, his shoulders shaking, words almost stammering with forced coughing. Only then after a few years did she realize her foster father may had been trying to suppress his own amusement over the incident.

Irse snickered quietly at the memory then stopped at the sight of her teacher giving her a wry look.

"A pity for a child to be deprived of the opportunity to learn a craft," he remarked as he smiled knowingly. "Yet one cannot blame them for decreeing that sharp, pointy, burning objects are not playthings to be dangled in front of a young fox."

Irse could only grin, a toothy admission of guilt.

* * *

They turned from the road and into a beaten pathway that veered east. It led to a hamlet, a cluster of small houses adjacent to a field of scattered vegetable patches. A few farmers carrying rakes and baskets walked past the pair, hailing them with stiff nods and curious whispers behind their backs.

"They've got one of their own already!" A scowl spread over her face at the sight of the smithy. Though a mere door-less shack with an anvil and a forge – it was clearly well used with a small fire starting at the hearth and tools neatly arranged upon a rack.

Her teacher tutted at her. "Dismiss not the first hill standing in your path. Perhaps a valley of gold lies beyond the mound?"

They stopped at the threshold and waited for the master of the forge. It wasn't long before he emerged from a homely hut beside the smithy. A middle-aged man, robust from years of toil. His arm was bound in a sling.

"And what can I do for a chap from the east and an elf lass?" he greeted them amiably.

Okami bowed deeply before the man, Irse glancing at her teacher before abruptly following in his gesture.

"We are humble travelers making our way north. I am also a smith and this is my apprentice. If you have need of able hands at the moment, we will gladly lend our services."

The man scratched the stubble on his chin as he pondered the offer. "Matter of fact, I do need some help with my work." He canted his head towards the forge. "Got a commission to make a batch of nails for a merchant friend coming in tomorrow. But see here, I hurt my arm. Fell off a ladder the other day thatching my roof, and my son's gone off to Beregost with his mam so I've no help around."

After a quick exchange between the two men on the amount of work to be done, they immediately set about to prepare for the day's labors. Okami guided the young elf to the forge which appeared to be an open brick hearth raised above the ground. He showed her how to stoke the fires with a handheld bellows. They took turns with the implement, Okami allowing his student to acquire a feel of the effort to operate the contraption.

The smith, Filmon, went to an adjoining shed to fetch the iron rods. He returned with a half-filled wheelbarrow. As Irse continued to work on the forge, the two men unloaded the metal on to a worktable.

"There be another pile in the shed, could you get it too?" Filmon told Okami who promptly took the wheelbarrow and left.

"Been wanting to ask. What happened to you, lass?" Filmon asked as soon as the other man had gone.

Irse turned to him, rubbing the bandage bundled on her ear and held in place by a gauze wrapped around her forehead. It had only been a couple of days since the attack.

"Bandits, sir," she simply replied.

The man spat on the ground. "Aye! Scum of the Coast. I dunno why the Fist don't send more of their numbers to watch the roads. Too comfy sitting on their arse all holed up behind the Gate, I'd say. Sorry 'bout your ear, though," he muttered.

"Yes, well. I could've lost… a nose," she remarked brightly. Filmon grunted in agreement and with his free hand pulled out a few tools from the rack for their use.

Okami returned with more of the rods. He speedily unloaded them on to the table and replaced the wheelbarrow by the entrance. Then he walked over to the forge, slipping his left hand into a thick leather glove.

"Our first task is to heat the iron stock to the correct forging temperature. See that the tip is bright, like the color of the sun rising. Only then will it be ready to be shaped by the hammer. I will forge the nails myself but you must observe and learn," he commenced explaining to his apprentice as he scraped some of the live coals over the iron with a long-handled spatula.

"And take care when you are handling the workpiece once you have put it to the fire. Regardless of its color, the heat remains for some time. Always clasp it with pincers or tongs, or with a gloved hand if the length of the stock does not require a tool such as what we are working on now. Never with your bare hands lest you burn yourself," he added as a warning.

Irse bobbed her head in understanding. _Hot things burn –_ something quite obvious to anyone, she dismissed in her mind.

Filmon watched them for a moment. "Seems you know what to do. Well, I'll be leaving the two of you here for now as I need to help my own mam. If you need anything just holler at us in that yonder field," Filmon said as he pointed at a small house where an old woman came out and stood by a mule and a cart of hay. With that, the smith left them to their work.

"So, just nails? I thought he'd ask us to make something bigger – like a _sword_ ," Irse said with disappointment. She held a pair of the rods in her hands, idly tapping them one against the other.

"Before you can forge a sword, you must first learn to shape a nail," Okami admonished sharply.

The elf hunched her shoulders and grinned apologetically at his chiding and gingerly replaced the rods on the worktable.

Okami explained further, "By heating the metal, you make it pliable to be fashioned to the form you require. This is known as the _heat_. Try to count the number of times I do this. First, we are to shape the point, next we fashion the shank - the body of the nail, so that it tapers from head to tip. Lastly, we separate the nail from the rest of the stock and form its head."

Okami slid the iron out of the fire to check the temperature and was rewarded with the telltale bright yellow-orange glow. With the gloved hand holding the unheated half, he laid the workpiece on the anvil face and hammered at the glowing tip which he raised at a slight angle. Four times he turned and made a few strong taps. Then he started hammering at the area a bit away from the tip, both rotating and drawing the rod towards him to stretch the iron and create a taper.

Then he placed a steel wedge, a hardy, upon the anvil face, fastening its square-pegged bottom to the hardy hole at the far end of the surface. He held a sample of a finished nail against the stock to check for length, then laid it against the hardy. Several strong blows were made at the spot placed above the hardy's sharp edge as he rotated the rod. With the remaining glow on the metal, Irse could see a dent deepening round the piece, almost expecting it to fall off and separate from the rest. But just when she thought it would, Okami lifted the stock, clamped the thinned section with a pincer-like tool, a header, and twisted the iron against header's grip until it broke off. Okami inserted the newly broken-off piece into a pritchel hole on the anvil face and pounded at the exposed and still radiant end. Then he dipped the nail into a trough of water, the metal cooling with a satisfying hiss.

He held up the workpiece to show her the result. A nail indeed – a sharp four-sided tip, tapered shank and a flattened head. "How many heats were made to produce one nail?" he quizzed his apprentice.

"One heat, Teacher," Irse answered. As with his movement and his strides, the whole process under his hands seemed quick and efficient. Nothing, whether heat or effort, was wasted in producing a simple nail.

"Correct. Iron can only be shaped while it is still hot. As it cools, it becomes difficult to mold until it finally hardens on its own. Know the course of your actions before you execute the work. Otherwise, hesitation and unnecessary movement will cost you the opportunity."

Okami repeated the process for a dozen more nails with Irse preparing the rods for shaping, finally arranging the finished work into a separate pile. As she watched him, her hand would unconsciously imitate the way he wielded the hammer. Finally, the elf worked up the courage to ask.

"Can I try to make one by myself, Teacher?"

Okami looked up from his work and beamed. "Certainly. Here, the next one is yours."

Gripping the newly heated iron with one gloved hand and laying it against the anvil face, she pounded at the metal, excitement and eagerness driving the force in her blows. Okami stood by and observed in silence, arms crossed over his chest.

Yet the hammer seemed to be hitting the anvil more than the rod. _A miss, one after the other. How many times has she turned the workpiece? She forgot. Does it have the four-sided point now? At first, she could almost feel the iron bend from her strikes but why is it getting harder and harder to hit it?_

After a while, Irse paused and frowned.

"Teacher," she said unsurely. "I'm not certain I'm doing this correctly." She held up her work. Tip unevenly formed and shank unequal from the hammer landing without focus. More like a slightly kinked root.

Okami raised an eyebrow, though his expression was more of amusement. "Perhaps among other worlds the gods have seeded, we may find a crooked people living in crooked houses having need for your crooked nail."

The elf rested the stock on the anvil with a sigh. Gone was its glow, the iron now gray and dull.

"I was so slow that it must have hardened before I'm through. I bet it's already as cold as ice," Irse grumbled as she reached over to poke at the rod with the tips of her fingers.

With startling speed, Okami's hand darted out, swiftly grasping her wrist before she could touch the workpiece.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she turned to look at him. "But it seems like –," she blurted out.

Okami released his grip on her. He dipped a hand into the trough and flicked a few drops of water at the iron. Vapor escaped its surface with a hiss.

"My earlier warning still holds. It may no longer be as radiant as the sun, but it will burn just as much." He turned to her with a stern gaze as if to impose the lesson of her carelessness. "Do not be deceived by appearances, for the false safety you see with your plain eyes will cause you twice the harm."

Irse bowed meekly. "Yes, Teacher." She scratched at her head. "But I wasted one stock. Now Mister Filmon will take it out of the pay!" she exclaimed with dismay.

Okami's expression suddenly softened. "Ah, but such is the beauty of working with metal. With wood and stone, a mistake is permanent and must be carved away and then you are left with less. Not so with iron. Though among the strongest of materials, it is malleable to any shape you please - but only when put through the hottest of fires. With iron, there are no mistakes – only a call to return to the forge once again _._ " He motioned for her to replace the workpiece into the hearth.

"Now as we wait for the iron, show me again how you attempt to reshape the anvil."

Irse pouted peevishly at the apparent jibe but obeyed nonetheless. She returned to the anvil with an unheated rod and held the hammer high in the air, knuckles white with the tightest grip that she could manage.

"No. Loosen your hold slightly. Yet with sufficient grip that it does not fall from your hands," Okami said, then looked up at the roof. "And that neither will it fly to the heavens again. Wait, you are holding at the end of the handle and standing as far as you can from the anvil."

She looked at her hand gripping the hammer. "Oh, how close should I be? Won't I smack my own face by accident if I'm too near?"

"Your method and pose will result to your body absorbing the strain because your wrists are forced to pivot a heavy tool. You will tire easily and hurt yourself. Instead, grip the middle of the handle but place your body directly over your work like so," Okami said as he positioned himself by the anvil as he did before, grasping another hammer to show her.

"In this manner, your arm as the bigger and stronger muscle will be doing the work instead of your wrists. With a grip closer to the head, you are better able to control where it lands," he added, demonstrating his grip and softly smacking the hammer against his palm.

After she performed a few practice motions, Okami signaled for her to take out the stock from the forge. As she did so, she was delighted at seeing the rod bright once more. She had thought it could be melted only once and like potter's clay would eventually harden to a permanent state. Quickly she brought it back to the anvil. Holding the hammer in the manner instructed, the elf looked first to her teacher for permission.

"Now strike while the iron is hot," he commanded.

Her jaw set with renewed determination, Irse aligned herself directly over the workpiece and began to hammer as directed. Sweat poured in beads from her temples as if the very fires of the forge engulfed her. Still unused to the motions, her arm protested at the weight of the tool. But now more of the blows struck true and her heart swelled with joy at the sense of control she had gained.

"Look, Teacher! A point!" she cheered as she held up the piece, turning it around and proudly displaying what would pass for an angled tip.

Okami peered at her work, an approving smile on his face. "You are learning. But the metal has begun to cool again. What is to be done, then?"

Irse looked up, in her eyes a spark newly kindled.

" _Put the iron to the fire once more_."

It took her twelve more heats to complete, but she was happy with her first nail. No longer a wobbly mess though the taper still uneven and the head flattened more like an irregular flower than a circle, yet surely a pointy thing it was. Into the pile of finished work it went, though Irse wondered if her mentor would've approved of including such an aberrant in the tally.

Okami allowed her to make a few more, each a slight improvement over the one before, but insisted on finishing the whole commission himself. Whether it was because it would take them a day to be done if she was to contribute more to the work, or the idea of her hand wounds reopening and bleeding all over the anvil was an unsavory consequence, Irse didn't care too much. Though thrilled and proud of her first forging, she was just glad to be allowed to rest from working with the hammer.

It was nearly dusk by the time Filmon returned to the smithy. Irse dusted the anvil and swept the floor as the two men inspected the nails and discussed payment.

"Eh, what's this?" Filmon held up a piece much different from the others. _Irse's first nail_.

The elf dropped the broom and ran over to them, clasping her hands in a genuine apology. "I'm sorry, Mister Filmon. It's my first work. I'll do extra chores in the smithy or the field to make up for it."

"No, please charge it against me. I am accountable for her," Okami humbly offered.

The smith rolled the nail in his palm, quietly examining the somewhat warped piece. "Well, I'll be! It's an _elven nail_! Just as I had imagined you fancy elves would make it!" he laughed good-naturedly. "If you had made this with silver, I might even think to sell it as a trinket."

Master and student sighed in relief as Filmon handed the nail to the young elf. "You can keep it, girl. For good luck, or to remind you to give it a bit more practice!" he chuckled and winked.

Irse accepted the nail with both hands and beamed shyly. "Thank you, Sir. I'll always keep that in mind." She tucked the nail into a pocket and patted at it.

"You're welcome to stay in the smithy for the night. And join us for supper, will you? Mam's cooking up a feast, especially after she heard we're having guests from – well, _not here_."

Okami bowed before their host, Irse doing likewise. "We would be honored, Master Filmon," he accepted.

They had dinner at the house of Filmon's mother, a spritely old lady named Sarra. Despite the simple spread of chicken and vegetable stew, bread and watered-down wine, Irse thought it a feast; finally, being able to sit in a chair, eat on a table with plates and cutlery after days of taking her meals by the side of the highway. Conversation often turned to news of the road, work at the farm and the smithy, and passing mention of other small villages along the Coast.

Sarra seemed to take a special interest in the young elf. "How old are you, dearie? Eighty? A hundred and twenty?"

Irse blinked, puzzled at the old woman's guess way off the mark. "I'm fifteen now, ma'am," she responded politely, covering her mouth as she chewed on a turnip in the stew.

"Fifteen? Just a mere babe out and about wandering these roads! But you'll always look like that, won't you? Oh, I wish I could stay forever the pretty lass that I was in my youth - just like you fey folk!" Sarra gushed, a wistful look on her cloudy eyes.

 _"You, Mam?_ _Pretty_? Didn't Pa, bless his soul, always said you blinded him with a barrel of stout twice – once in that midwinter feast when you roped him in the barn, and then at your wedding day. Maybe thrice, including the wedding night!" Filmon piped in with a guffaw.

Sarra wagged a soup ladle at her son. "Shush, you! Don't tell me your pocky face got Elena to pull up her skirts! You put a sack on your head or hers?"

As mother and son hurled savory insults over the stew, teacher and student traded amused glances and quietly ate their portions.

Supper was cleared away and after profuse expressions of gratitude, Okami had requested that he and his apprentice be allowed to retire for the night. Filmon hung a thick blanket at the entrance of the smithy to keep out the draft, spread a dense carpet of straw all over the dirt floor and left them more blankets and two lanterns for the night.

Irse took her place by a lamp, sitting cross-legged on the straw. She would be on guard until an hour past moondark, then her teacher would take over until sunrise.

Okami knelt beside her. "There is no need to keep watch. We are safe here for the farmers take turns in guarding the village in the hours before dawn. You must rest for you have labored much today," he said gently.

Irse nodded and stood to get her pack and set down her bedroll. It was just as well, for her shoulders ached, her arms sore, and her neck felt stiff from all the hammering and carrying and watching. Better to rest through the night now for tomorrow would certainly mark the start of another long stretch of walking and camping.

But sleep didn't come right away. Irse took out the nail from her pocket. Staring blankly at the ceiling, she held it like a feather pen, tracing her name, trees, clouds, the moon in the air.

Her gaze fell upon her teacher, still in a sitting kneel by the lantern. His own eyes were half-closed, hands resting upon his thighs, his striking features now relaxed and serene by the dim light.

She looked up again at the wooden beams above, her hand unconsciously changing its grip on the nail, from that of a pen to a hammer. And as she did, something stirred within her, a mingling of elation, sureness, and purpose.

Then she laid down her hand and closed her eyes.


	3. A Shadow of Valleys (Book 1)

Standard disclaimers apply. All BG characters belong to Bioware except for Irse and Okami who sprang fully-grown and stocked with kaffa from the author's regulatory audit-weary mind. As this is an AU BG, an inordinate number of events will not be following the in-game story.

(Because I couldn't reply via the Reviews section)

To Nimloth of Thay: Yay! A fellow Saiyuki and BG fan! What a small realm this is! On a random note, I once played Icewind Dale 2 with the Ikkou, plus Hazel and Gato. Good times, good times. I agree, Yoshimo is awesome! We gots a soft spot for confident and competent characters hehe. It was a choice between having Okami come from either Wa (based on the Tokugawa Shogunate Era) or Kozakura (based on the Sengoku Period), and so it was the latter - but not because we want to drop a random Samurai Kings reference *coughs*.

To Aiavan: Yes, this part for now is pre-Iron Crisis ;) Perhaps we could give Gorion a bit of a break this time and not let him go wandering around in The Lion's Way after dark. ;)

Many thanks to all readers and reviewers. Not much happening yet as this chapter is to deal with some chief issues, thus, I humbly beg your patience. Things should get lighter in the next. ^^

* * *

"The way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death _." –_ Miyamoto Musashi, _The Book of Five Rings_.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 3 : A Shadow of Valleys**

* * *

It was there again, that familiar flash of steel above her head. But this time, new details made themselves known to her, things that had escaped her awareness then. Woody smoke that hung heavy in the air from the burning wagons, a woman wailing somewhere in the distance, and the dampness of the grass against the back of her neck. Even the blood from the bandit's sword, blood already drawn from her, falling in drops upon her face and leaving trails across her cheeks.

The same fear was still there, accompanied by the dryness in her throat, the breath tight in her chest, and the pounding in her ears. But this time, she waited with an expectant knowing. The blade piercing through the tatty jerkin, his hands reaching down to pull her up from the earth, the search in the woods for the children, the distraught faces. Grief, anger, doubt over the choice made, bleakness over not knowing where to go to next. All concluding with relief and hope, the early sunlight upon the road, its dust like gold beside the shadows cast by her feet.

A veil was lifted from her eyes and she was brought back to the waking world and into the shelter of the smithy. No light peeked beneath the blanket at the door; dawn was still hours away. The lamps had been put out but the elf could see faintly in the darkness.

Irse turned over to her side and pondered the dream. It felt different from the ones she usually had at home. It was as if she was there once more at the night of the attack, experiencing everything all over again even though she already knew what would happen.

But she did have a dream similar to this, weeks ago. Inwardly she groaned at the memory. It had been the catalyst, the final straw. _Why won't Gorion give her answers._ No, now was not the time to be distracted. The elf sighed and shook herself all over, both to brush off the stiffness and the more recent yet unhappy memories. Her eyes wandered around in the smithy, taking in what she could see in the absence of light – the forge black and cold, the tools neatly lined against the rack, the anvil like the hulking form of a slumbering beast, her teacher resting on his back.

Even in sleep he was quiet and still. Were it not for the slow rising and falling of his chest, he could easily be mistaken for a corpse. Never snoring, not even a murmur from a dream or a moan from a nightmare. Irse speculated. Perhaps his home had given him nothing but peaceful memories. In other words – most likely a dull, humdrum, boring life in some quiet backwoods. No wonder he left his homeland to seek his fortune in Faerun.

Perhaps they were not so different then, the elf supposed as she pulled the blanket over herself and waited for the morning.

* * *

The afternoon had advanced to the final hours before sunset. They stopped by the side of the road and walked further until they reached a clearing amidst a sparse copse of trees.

"Let me see to your wounds again while there is yet light," Okami said.

First, her hands. She held them out for him and he carefully freed them of the bandages, one after the other. As the dressings fell away, he took her hands and held them up for closer scrutiny. His eyes lit up in surprise. Though the surrounding areas and edges of the lacerations were still inflamed, the cuts themselves had closed altogether.

"I feared I had been negligent in allowing you to work with the hammer so soon, that it might hinder your recovery. But it appears they are healing much faster than I expected even when it should require many days for a wound of this type to reach this state. I am not familiar with the constitution of elves, but is this the way with your people?"

"Not sure, Teacher. I've had my share of nasty falls and scrapes but as far as I can remember, I just shrug it off and I'd be up and running again."

Her hands continued to rest upon his as he stared at them still. Much like fortune tellers who looked into one's palm and predicted the future – whether one would marry and have ten children, or die an old maid. Not that she had anyone look into hers before for the same reason; as a child, often it was merely to check if she had pilfered anything from the kitchens or was hiding another crumpled note with a crudely scribbled insulting likeness of Master Ulraunt or any of his lackeys.

"Are you reading my future?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"No, but another's past. A sad tale from a long time ago," he said as he picked up the discarded bandages beside them. He moved back and settled in a sitting kneel before her as he gathered and rolled the length of the dressings.

"Can I hear it?" she blurted eagerly. But she paused, then added, "If you don't mind telling." It just occurred to her that Okami hadn't really shared anything about himself since they began traveling together, and that might have been for good reason.

But her teacher responded with an indulgent smile. "Of course, though it is not about myself, but of a man I met in my youth." He breathed in deeply as he recounted. "Many years past, I fought alongside a soldier by the name of Tatsuhito. One day as we were preparing to engage the enemy, I noticed a prominent scar upon his hand nearly identical to yours."

Irse raised her brow in surprise. So her teacher used to be a soldier? Yet his manners seemed to dictate otherwise. The elf briefly imagined the blacksmith in gleaming helmet and polished armor instead of his shabby loose trousers and his short tattered open-front robe that he wrapped around himself and held together with a sash. Then she realized she had no idea how Kozakuran soldiers dressed like anyway.

"I inquired as to how he obtained his scar, and he confessed it was the mark of a blood oath."

The young elf's eyes widened with interest. _A blood oath_. That sounded like it involved villainous wizards and warlocks. "What's a blood oath? Is it evil magic?" she asked, her voice an excited whisper.

"There is no magic, arcane nor divine, involved in one; only an intent to commit oneself to a bond with another. Often it is done to establish alliances or to swear an oath to perform a duty to another person."

Her curiosity was piqued. "If it's not magic, then what do they do in it?"

"There are no written rules, only what one's heart dictates and bids him say. Customarily, they swear their oaths followed by bloodletting. The rite is concluded by the mingling of blood, through clasping of hands if they had cut their palms, or letting blood from their forearms fall into a cup of wine which they drink together. This is to signify that the same blood now flows in their veins, the union of both brotherhood and purpose."

"Drinking blood!" she exclaimed with a shiver. "What happens if you break your vow?"

"No law or curse binds them to their pledge but I know not of any who have turned their back on it. You do not make the oath of blood to someone you do not honor or respect, nor for a cause you are not willing to give your life to. It is not uncommon to hear of those taking their own lives due to betrayal or failure. Truth be told, this ritual originated from tribes beyond our shores. Somehow, it had found its way to our lands and I am not surprised that the warriors among us would take to this practice."

The elf leaned back, amazed that there were people who would do such a thing to themselves. "And your friend? Did he tell you why he did that?

"Herein is the sadness of his tale. Tatsuhito had a bosom friend, Ueda, a fellow soldier and minor noble whose home lay at the edge of the borders under our protection. The enemy, in a show of defiance, raided his village and subjugated its inhabitants to their rule. While the peasants immediately swore fealty to their new master in fear for their lives, Ueda's family remained steadfast. As punishment, his entire household were abused and publicly executed - his elderly parents, wife and children. Even the lowest of the servants and the livestock were not spared. Their bodies were tossed like refuse outside the gates of their own house, under strict orders to remain unburied for a month to serve as a warning to others."

Irse gasped in disbelief at the brutality. "And the army marched in, saved the village and punished the enemy, right?"

Okami shook his head. "It was only a minor loss to our lord and his allies, the small territory and insignificant populace unworthy of resources better spent elsewhere. Denied of justice and maddened by grief, Ueda secretly deserted his post to return to his home and avenge his family. But alone and unaided, he was caught, tortured in the same manner they suffered, and made to die of his wounds slowly as he lay among the corpses of the slain."

Irse's heart sank. This certainly didn't play out like the epic tales of revenge she had read from the books that her tutor, Brother Karan, would sneak out of the library for her. In those stories, the wronged heroes always succeeded, survived, and were rewarded - hailed as a savior by the oppressed little folk or married to a beautiful princess and ruled a kingdom until a peaceful death in old age.

Her teacher folded the bandages as he resumed his tale. "Tatsuhito, assigned to another division, returned to learn of his friend's death. Though Ueda no longer lived to hear his vow, he performed the blood oath upon himself, swearing he would not rest until the murderers are all dead. But unlike his friend, Tatsuhito was a prudent and patient man. After a skirmish, he feigned grave injuries and was granted a lengthy reprieve. He traveled to the village, disguised as a landless peasant seeking employ. For months, he lived as a servant to the traitors and his friend's murderers, learning all what he could of them. One by one, he killed those involved whether by poison, a blade to the back, or a contrived accident. To kill by stealth was beyond the question of his principles, so great was his love for his friend that he was willing to do anything no matter how seemingly dishonorable for a warrior."

"Did he ever succeed in getting them all while he was there?" Irse leaned forward, hoping in her heart that there could be a happy ending to the tale.

"All but the captain who ordered the executions and two of his attendants who participated in the tortures; they had been recalled to the main army of their lord. It was in that chance encounter where Tatsuhito and I met that he completed his vengeance. In the midst of the fighting, he charged and broke through enemy lines, seeking those three men. I found him after the battle, his path littered with the unfortunates who dared to stand in his way, and him surrounded by the bodies of his quarries. All of them slain by his hand yet he himself already breathing his last."

"So he did it. But he still died," she said with disappointment.

"Yes, such a path rarely ends well for all. But there was peace upon his face as he expired, knowing he had fulfilled his vow to his dearest friend. His sword I eventually returned to his family in Chozawa, their grief great at the loss of a son but their pride immeasurable over his fidelity to his oath and friend."

Irse slumped and rested against her pack, her own spirit heavy at the unhappy conclusion. Even with retribution attained, justice still felt hollow. No recompense, even for Tatsuhito's family who lost him to the vendetta. For what good was _pride_ then – can it laugh with the voice of the departed, or put its arms around the loved ones left behind? Nonetheless, the elf let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully though, no wars ever happened in the Sword Coast, and Candlekeep will always be safe for everyone who lived there.

The sound of her teacher briskly rubbing and slapping his hands together jolted the elf from her musings. "Now, how did I allow you to listen with only one ear? We must remove the bandages so that this tragic tale may come out of the other lest it rob you of sleep tonight," he offered cheerily.

Irse grinned at his words. And so her ear was next. She felt the gauze slowly unwinding around her head until the hot stuffiness was gone and a slight breeze gently touched at the once covered skin. Pleased, the elf combed a hand through the coppery locks that had fallen to the side of her head to gather them away from the ear and feel more of the cool afternoon air.

Her finger brushed against the ear – or what was left of it, her hand pulling away in shock. She stared at him anxiously. Her teacher didn't answer. Instead, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

"You are still able to hear that with your left ear?"

Irse scowled. "Of course, I can."

"Then it matters not what the outside appears to the world, so long as the inside functions as it should," he dismissed.

Her hand quickly shot up to the side of her head to feel again. The upper tip was still there but a portion of the outer ear's side was gone. On the night of the attack, it had swelled to nearly twice its size and she had hoped it was still whole and merely pierced through. The first couple of nights afterwards, it throbbed with pain and nearly robbed her of sleep. The elf had thought that would be the worst of it. That it suddenly stopped hurting like some miracle gave her hope that it would be well again. Now she discovered she had been wrong.

In panic she turned away and scrambled for her pack. "A mirror," she muttered, upset. Surely, she must have thought to bring one with her. Yet for all her planning, she had forgotten to throw one into her bag. "Well, it's not so bad, is it?" the elf finally said in defeat.

"Not as misshapen as those I have seen in the aftermath of battle or a duel. Others have had theirs severed entirely," Okami said with the nonchalance of one who had seen every conceivable injury.

The elf exhaled in half-hearted agreement as she fingered at the ragged edge of her ear. That a child would live, the man who had done this to her was dead, and that she was still alive were things to be grateful for; others hadn't been so fortunate.

"Tell me plainly how you got those wounds," Okami said.

Irse looked up at him and frowned. _Didn't he know already?_ "I got them when I caught the sword with my bare hands. Stupid of me to think I could – no, I wasn't thinking at all. And the ear, well, I tried to move my head away, clearly it was coming straight for my face. He was sitting on me, otherwise I could've rolled away. But why are you asking me?"

"Without knowing, you demonstrated a vital principle in combat," he said, his eyes grave. " _The way of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death_ \- that is the word of the masters drilled upon us from our youth. And yet it is the very same creed that would keep you alive in the worst of the fighting, when both weapon and aid have failed."

Irse blinked, confused. "What has that got to do with me? How will not being afraid to die be what that keeps me alive? That doesn't make sense at all!"

"You are fortunate to have been blessed with the instinct. Yet think for a moment if you had been given the choice but not wanted to mar your hands or perchance lose a finger in the process. You would have hesitated to sacrifice your hands and surely you would have joined the others in the pyre."

"Are you saying I should be reckless? Not care if I lose everything?"

"Do not confuse resolve with rashness. _When you have accepted the prospect of death then you will be undistracted by preoccupation with self-preservation_. Only then you may draw unhindered from the deepest reserves of your strength and focus. Think upon that each time you look at your hands and when you finally see yourself in the mirror. You may find it difficult to understand now but one day you will, though I pray to the gods that you would never have to," he said as he got up, bandages in hand.

Not far from where they made their camp, Okami dug a small hole in which he tossed the used dressings and covered them with the disturbed earth. Meanwhile, Irse busied herself with gathering wood for the fire. Every now and then, she would look down at her hands or rub her left ear and thought grimly. _What else would she have to sacrifice?_

Slowly, the fire came to life as Irse fed it with more dried leaves. Its crisp cackle joined the low buzzing of crickets and the occasional shrill cry of a bird roosting above them. The blacksmith returned from a quick patrol of their surroundings, his wordless calm telling her that nothing was amiss and they could settle there for the night.

Her teacher peered into the sack of provisions that had been generously provided by their previous hosts. "Now, if you are agreeable, let us finally have our supper," he said.

"Great!" Irse cheered excitedly, suddenly revived. "You know, all that talk of _blood_ made me hungry!"

Okami shot her a strange look.

"I mean, blood, like blood pudding and meat stew and…" she attempted to explain, astonished at her own outburst.

"It is too late to set a trap with the evening already upon us. We are having the vegetables that Mistress Sarra provided but the cured meat and seasonings we must ration until we reach another place with a market. Hence, tonight we will boil them without salt," he pronounced dryly as he pulled out a small kettle.

The elf groaned and wondered what her other ear would taste like.

* * *

"It's... a sword?" Irse asked, uncertainly, as she examined the piece of wood that Okami had handed to her. As long as her arm, one end carved to a pointy tip, the whole length cut to resemble the broad sides of the blade, the other end notched to indicate where the hilt should be.

"Yes, a _bokken_ , a practice sword - or the best I could prepare in such short notice."

She gripped the stick with both hands and tried to swing it just like the way she remembered seeing the Watchers do during their practice drills.

"Ow!" the elf exclaimed and glanced at her palm. A splinter and no wonder; the entire surface had only been hurriedly sheared and yet to be sanded down.

Okami coughed as he held out his own wooden sword. "A thousand apologies. I am a blacksmith, not a woodcarver."

Her cheeks puffed as she stifled a snicker. At least that was one thing he is not that she could scratch from her list. _What else could he be, after all?_

Their lessons began that morning as they walked the road. Okami wasted no time as he explained the rudiments to his eager student. "The difference between the standard double-edged longsword in common use in Faerun and the single-edged _katana_ of Kara-Tur which I carry is not only in appearance, but also in how they are wielded. However, the basic stance and guards are quite similar in form and principle."

Her teacher paused in his steps and stood before her, knees slightly bent, feet apart but with right foot forward and left foot behind and slightly pointing outwards. He raised his bokken in front of him, tip pointing up. "For instance, what is known as the _short guard_ for the longsword is also the _chudan no kamae_ of the katana."

He lowered the stick. "The _fool's guard_ , also the _gedan no kamae_." He raised the practice sword above his head. "The _guard of the hawk_ , also the _jodan no kamae_." The bokken lowered but pointing behind. "The _long tail guard_ , also the _waki no kamae_." He raised the stick once again, this time at eye level and the tip pointing forward. "And the _ox guard_ , also the _kasumi no kamae_. Each stance has its purpose in defense and striking." At the mention of the Kozakuran names, he slightly changed the way he gripped his practice sword to indicate how the guard position would appear when one wielded a katana instead.

"Why do I tell you this? Had you been born in my homeland as a man and in a noble family, you would have been instructed in the sword arts from the moment your hands could hold and your feet could stand. Your clan, a patron of an illustrious school and you trained in a single fighting technique, the purpose of your duels merely to prove that your school's sword style is the finest. In Kozakura where warriors battle in much the same manner, such a way is effective."

Okami waved his bokken, pointing at the horizon and at the road before them. "But here in Faerun where people from across the realms converge, such narrowness of knowledge could be your undoing. Hence, I wish for you to understand not only the movements, but more so the principle that governs most of what you must do and what you may expect from an enemy."

The elf nodded in acceptance yet deep down, a sprout of insecurity remained.

"What is the matter?" her teacher asked, evidently reading her thoughts on her face.

"I don't know if I could truly learn something as complicated," she said timidly. Memories of impatient monks who had attempted to educate her in the finer points of civilization such as poetry, languages and history, had impressed that doubt upon her mind. Only Brother Karan, ten years her senior yet of gentle disposition and possessing an unending store of patience, had been able to get her and Imoen to sit still long enough to learn their letters and sums. A jar of sweets sitting at his table might have been instrumental as well.

"I know that all this is too much to take in at the moment. You do not have the benefit of years of rote learning that you could have had as a child. But you are of sound mind and age now, thus, you must make up for it with the study and understanding of the principles before the application itself. But fear not," he said reassuringly. "All I ask from you are an open mind, eyes, and ears. Let them lead, and your hands will follow."

Irse nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence. As they walked, Okami drilled her in the guard positions. He would call out a name, and she would show it to him as best as she could recall. Occasionally they would stop in their tracks and the blacksmith would correct her mistakes while demonstrating his own form.

"Now, what do you observe from all of the guard positions I've shown you?" he asked.

The elf furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. "Your feet, Teacher. They remain the same, one behind the other. But why? Why not stand with them together, or lined-up like the way the guards of Candlekeep do?" she questioned him as she positioned her own feet in the manner she described.

Okami rubbed his chin. "A good point. Perhaps it is because this might happen," he said as he suddenly lunged at her, stick raised in a level thrust.

With a startled cry Irse stepped backwards, but her foot could only go so far before she completely lost balance and fell on her rear. The elf winced in pain but got up as quickly as she could, dusting her trousers and her hands. "Unfair! You caught me by surprise!" she protested.

"And you expect enemies to announce themselves before they attack? Please point me to the direction of where such may be found. Their courtesy would be greatly appreciated," Okami sniffed.

"Well, the monks always said I'm a rude wingless imp!" Irse shouted as she launched herself at her teacher without warning, wooden sword raised above her head. But as she brought it down upon him, Okami spun sideways out of her reach. Her momentum carried her forward past him, and she felt the wood tap at her back. A bit of a stumble, and she stopped to turn around and face him. But she wasn't done yet.

Once more, the elf charged at him but her teacher effortlessly sidestepped again from her attack. They kept at it for a while – Irse frustratedly swinging her bokken in any direction she could muster yet Okami always remaining out of reach.

An old man on a horse-driven cart passed them by, going northward. "C'mon, my good man! Give the lass a chance, let her catch you once!" he laughed as he cracked at the reins and whistled at them.

Irse stopped to glare at the cart as it pulled away. From behind her, Okami's wooden stick landed on the top of her head, gently yet firm enough for a lesson. She yelped at the blow as her head jerked down and her shoulders scrunched in.

"What was that for?" she griped as she rubbed at the sore spot.

"Do not be distracted by onlookers," he scolded sharply. "Of all reasons to be defeated in a duel, it is the most _embarrassing_ one."

"Aigh, sorry!" Irse replied sheepishly. "But what was that you were doing, anyway? I couldn't hit you at all no matter how much I try."

" _Tenkan_ , a method to evade an attack. It can be done while standing normally but still requires you to move quickly into the proper stance where your rear foot leads to pull you out of the enemy's path," Okami explained.

"With improper posture, you are unbalanced, limited in your actions, and you position yourself to meet the enemy's force head-on. Your stance is what is the root to the tree – it should keep you stable and grounded," he said as he tapped at his leg. "But to be like water, allowing you to be fluid, quick, and adaptable in your movement whether in attack or defense," he followed as he rotated gracefully to one side as if evading an imaginary opponent, simultaneously swinging his own practice sword at where the enemy's neck would be.

The elf inhaled deeply, then gripped her practice sword as she tried to mirror the correct stance.

"Please show me, Teacher," she entreated humbly, suddenly feeling a quiet wave of excitement when he responded with a gratified smile.

There was much to absorb, much to comprehend, but surely there was enough of the road and the journey ahead to let her learn and finally understand.

* * *

"We are grateful that you would let us ride with you the rest of the way," Okami thanked the farmer, sitting at the front of the cart beside the old man.

"You're both lucky ya caught up with me an' old Kicker. I reckon' the girl's all winded from chasin' at you so hard!" the farmer jested as he turned his head to wink at Irse sitting at the back of the cart. The elf shot him a grin that looked more like an angry grimace. The farmer merely chuckled.

Fortune had beamed upon them that day. Not far from where master and student had been practicing, the old farmer himself had stopped to nap, feed his horse, and nap some more. By the time the pair had come upon him, the old man had awoken, forgotten that he had already fed his horse, and had decided to shove another armful of hay at the beast which didn't mind the second meal. Her teacher had inquired if the old farmer needed assistance of any kind, a conversation which quickly evolved to the latter offering to take them wherever they may be going as long as it was heading north.

They traveled over gently rolling hills, past sprawling farmlands. The two men exchanged pleasantries, weather maxims, opinions about root crops. The uninteresting conversation, combined with the heat of the morning sun climbing to its zenith, lulled Irse into a light sleep. Boredom and weariness finally allowed her to doze off despite the rickety cart wobbling its way upon the bumpy road.

She was roused by a hand upon the top of her head.

"We are here," Okami called out.

The elf kneaded the corner of her eyes with her knuckles before pulling herself up. She pushed in between the two men; her mouth open in awe as they crossed an immense bridge. Stone posts and archways towered above them, the boulevard a wide network of innumerable bricks bordered by parapets near the height of a man. Beneath the structure, the River Chionthar flowed through, its mighty blue currents drawing the boats, smaller rafts, and floating scrubs onwards to the Sea of Swords to the west. Beyond the bridge, massive gray walls rose from the riverbank, an endless curtain of stone spanning both directions as far as her eyes could see. They were finally welcomed by a colossal gate, high and wide enough for a giant as the elf imagined. The portcullis was raised, its pointed iron grills like the teeth of a great monster while throngs of travelers fed themselves into the huge stone maw which gave her a peek into another world.

"Is this…?" she gasped as she looked up at her teacher.

Okami nodded at her. "Yes, it is," he said quietly.

They were finally _here_.

 _Baldur's Gate._


	4. A Cobbled Path (Book 1)

Happy New Year! Ah, wait. It's February. Happy Lunar New Year!

(And because I couldn't reply in the reviews section)

To Nimloth of Thay: You guessed right! Sanzo was a Lathanderite cleric, Goku a barbarian (got him carrying a staff just for show but switching to a sword during fights hehe), Gojyo a thief, Hazel a necromancer, Gato a ranger (almost tempted to make him use a sling just for the *bullets* haha), and Hakkai… well initially a monk for the unarmed combat but then had him be a druid instead so he could still heal, use offensive spells and entanglement – like his youkai form. ^_^ Thank you for the kind feedback on the tale and lessons, let's hope Irse remembers them in the days ahead hehe. Awwww, Lena's adorable; just had to laugh at the mental image of her taking her sweet time feeding - Priorities!

To All, many thanks for reading! May your year ahead and after that be full of extra auspicious _things._ Like mooncakes with three, not just one, salted yolks. Yum.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 4 : A Cobbled Path**

* * *

"We're here!" the old farmer announced as their cart stopped at what seemed the widest road anywhere in the East Docks. Gulls flying in all directions screeched overhead while around them, wagon wheels rattled and innumerable leather boots clacked upon uneven cobbles. Above the drone of a multitude of voices and the bustle of harbor activity came the hoarse shouts of tradesfolk hawking their wares. The air was soaked with the stink of discarded fish entrails and fetid river water. Irse sneezed.

"Don't care much for fish guts either. Rather be sniffin' pig manure all day; at least you know the smell's from somethin' still alive!" the farmer snorted in agreement.

Okami alighted from his perch and held out a palm with some coins. "Please accept these for your troubles, Uncle," he presented to the old man.

Irse canted her head as she looked at her Teacher curiously. Of course the two men were unrelated, but she had noticed how Okami often greeted elderly folks they passed by with either "uncle" or "auntie". Another of his people's odd customs, she supposed. With a half-grin, she wondered what would happen if she, an elf, went around calling every human adult as such. The look of scandal on their faces might be something to see. _Uncle Ulraunt!_ The young girl shivered, the thought immediately stamped down and abandoned.

"Nah, keep it for yourself an' the lass. The Gate may not be suckin' gold like that greed pot down south, but nothin's free here either. You keepin' me awake the rest of the way is payment enough," the farmer clucked, grinning and waving away the offer.

"Our thanks then," Okami said as he and Irse bowed at him.

The old man nodded at them and cracked the reins. Her eyes followed the cart as it circled wide to turn around, then pulled away and moved up the road northwards. The old farmer had mentioned staying at the Outer City, but he had been kind enough to go out of his way and take them as far as the East Docks. Maybe Kicker would be treated to an apple later.

"Where to now, Teacher?" she asked.

"To Iriaebor where a former acquaintance of mine currently resides. We are to travel by water this time. It is much faster than if we were to head south and take the Uldoon Trail. At the very least, we avoid the risk of running into…" he cut off as he looked at Irse.

The elf understood. _More bandits_.

* * *

They walked to the far end of the quay to a river ship, eighty feet long with two masts, docked apart from the rest. While other vessels had their names proudly painted on the bow, this one's moniker was faded, scratched out in most places and barely readable. A lone woman labored by the boat, tall and sandy-haired, her broad muscled shoulders marred with not a few scars and tattoos while her suit of boiled leather was scuffed and nicked, having seen better days. She inspected the crates lined up on the dock alongside the ship, one hand carrying a sheathed shortsword and in the other a horned helm.

Okami approached her with a respectful nod. "Good day to you, Madam. May we speak with the captain of this ship?"

The woman shot him a glare that would have sent lesser men cowering. " _I'm_ the _captain_ of this ship."

Her teacher seemed unperturbed. "Will you be sailing the Chionthar within the day? We wish to acquire passage to Iriaebor," he replied, gesturing to himself and Irse.

"And what if we are? Do I look like I let rats aboard my ship? Get out of my face! I don't need a pathetic male in my vessel!" the woman captain yelled, dropping the helmet as her hand reached for the hilt of the sword. A slight nod from her Teacher and they both walked away but stopped after a few steps.

"Disdainful of men," the blacksmith remarked in a low voice. "All the more reason for us to secure passage in her ship."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? From the looks of it, she'll gore you with that helmet of hers if you so much as breathe in her direction."

"I prefer to take chances with a man-hating captain than one who falsely professes chivalry."

For a moment, Irse remembered their earlier attempts with the other vessels. The captains and their crew, all men, weren't always outright rude and some even spoke with contrived flourish in an attempt to sound like high seas swashbucklers despite being riverboat folk. Yet inexplicably her Teacher would suddenly change his mind or tersely reject their terms. It was only in the fifth or so instance when she realized why. While the captain or any of the crew talked with Okami, their eyes would stray leeringly to her. Though garbed in a boy's tunic and trousers, she had felt uncomfortable and gathered her cloak about her. A quick glance and she had seen the dark look on her Teacher's face, only briefly, then masked again by his usual reserve.

"Shar-Teel! They're gone!" a voice rang out. Another woman, dressed in the same manner as the captain, cracked spectacles on her nose and auburn hair messily gathered under a bandanna, ran down the plank and smacked the captain's shoulder.

"Damn it, Nells! That's _Captain_ Shar-Teel to you, rude bitch! How're folks supposed to respect me when my own first mate can't even address me proper!" the woman captain ranted. "Now who's gone you say?"

"Risa and Beno! They haven't returned since yesterday! One of the harbor hands saw them running out the docks arm-in-arm before jumping in a wagon. Now we're two people short of a crew!"

"I should've tied them to the mast and lashed them when I caught them screwing on the deck. Didn't I tell you – never hire a man! Didn't I? You wouldn't listen! Pigs! Would dig a dead rotting snatch out of the mud just to sard it! Feh!" Shar-Teel spat at the wooden planks.

Nells countered indignantly, "We wouldn't have to hire him if you hadn't fired Lolla for, as you said…" She paused and rolled her eyes. "… excessive _manwhore-mongering._ "

"What would she need a dumb man for anyway? We've got _two masts_ in the ship, one for each of her ho-," Shar-Teel began but was interrupted by another smack on the shoulder and a sharp look from the first mate. The captain glared back with murder in her eyes, but Nells held her ground, jaws set and eyes almost challenging the other woman. It seemed this wouldn't be the first argument between them about crew discipline.

"Beno's the only experienced freehand we could find then. We need to leave within the day but where are we supposed to round up two extra hands at such short notice?" the first mate continued then looked around, noticing the elf and Kozakuran watching them.

"How about those two? Weren't they looking to hire themselves?"

"Nah. They want a boat going to Iriaebor. Told them to bugger off."

Okami approached them, his head in a respectful bow. "Captain Shar-Teel, please forgive my presumptuousness. May I speak?"

The blonde woman's expression brightened a bit. "Yeah, go ahead." Then she scowled. "But make it quick."

"I am somewhat acquainted with the workings of ship crews in my journeys. If you would take us with you, not only will we labor without compensation, but we will also pay for our passage," he bargained.

Nells excitedly poked at Shar-Teel's ribs. "C'mon. Paying workers! Take them already!"

Shar-Teel elbowed her first mate. "Shut up! I'm the captain; I make the decisions here!" She balled a fist and pointed her thumb at each of them

"You two don't happen to be _lovers_ now, hmmm?"

The elf's eyes widened, her face suddenly red at the question.

"No, we are not," Okami answered, unruffled as if he had been asked if he had three heads and a tail. "I am a blacksmith and she is my apprentice."

The captain grunted, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Don't want any hanky-panky business on _my_ ship like what happened to my _ex-crew_." She eyed Irse from head to toe. "Besides, that girl's got to be _too old_ for you."

"What do you mean by _too old_?" Irse demanded.

The captain sniggered wickedly, "Yeah, elf girl. Sure it looks like you just popped out of your momma's gash this morning but I'm betting you're really two hundred years old. Your kind are like that. You're not fooling Shar-Teel an' her sharp eyes!"

Bewildered, the young elf looked to her teacher. Okami merely closed his eyes, his brows raised in amusement. "Had you said so, I may have fashioned you a cane instead of a sword," he said with a slight quirk of his lips. She scratched the back of her ear and grumbled in reply.

"Yeah, they're hired. _Temporarily,"_ Shar-Teel declared, then suddenly shoved a pointing finger a mere inch from Okami's face.

"But you, milksop… _extra-temporarily_ ," she growled. Her outstretched hand curled into a fist and with that she cuffed the blacksmith quick and hard at his collarbone.

Irse's breath hitched, yet her Teacher remained composed, his eyes neither reciprocating nor submitting. The captain put on a gratified smirked before turning her back on them to pick up her helmet and stroll up the ship's plank.

Nonetheless, the first mate beamed with relief and adjusted her glasses. "Right! You heard the Captain. We set sail at the third bell – won't hurt to get in as much hours as we can before dark. Our other crewmate, Dotie, is out and about the Docks right now, getting what things we need for the journey. You best do the same for yourselves before we leave," Nells instructed them before she herself climbed up the ship.

* * *

After buying provisions from the wet market and a quick midday meal of cheap fish stew from an itinerant hawker, her Teacher had opted to stay by the boat to pitch in with the preparations while she explored a bit more of the Gate, or at least what she could in the next couple of hours. Clearly he hadn't much taste for the commotion and crowds, but the girl couldn't help herself. The farthest she had been outside the monastery walls was the edge of the village. Even Beregost down south was just an oft-mentioned name. Now was the chance to finally see Baldur's Gate and who knew if this was the last time she would pass this way?

A quick reminder from Okami to be mindful and wary, to stay away from dark corners and alleys, and she was off for a look around. With her pack slung on her shoulder, she walked away from the docks and kept to the main road to help her remember her way back. It steeped upwards then sharply leveled after a few blocks. Stone buildings with gray walls adorned by brightly painted shutters and window boxes rose like islands in a patchwork sea of people, animals, and wagons. In the smaller side streets, stone buttresses arched above the narrower lanes, appearing as if they were bridges between the upper floors of the structures though it seemed only cats and pigeons would dare the crossing.

 _So many people!_ Not even the summer high season brought this much to the great Library; her mind toyed with the question of how many of these folks Winthrop could fit in the old inn before the whole thing bursts at the seams. She grinned at the thought and pressed on. There was no destination in particular, only excitement at seeing as much as she could of this place so new and foreign to her.

 _New and foreign_. Yet as she crossed each block, each step over a cobblestone, an odd feeling came over her. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned the walls of the buildings ahead and behind her. This place, no, not the Docks, but this – _being here_ , it was familiar to her. _Had she been here before?_ It wasn't unlikely though. Her foster father could have brought her here as an infant on his way to Candlekeep from – _where?_ Even so, it would have been impossible for her to remember anything at that age.

Then came a tug, quiet and small, yet insistent. With a start, she looked at her feet, at the cobblestones. _As when Imoen, younger and shorter, would yank at her sleeve to get the elf to look down at her._

Irse furrowed her brows at the source of the invisible pull. _Down? Where? In the ground?_

She shrugged her shoulders, the weird impression immediately banished from her mind.

 _Just imagining things_. _Must be lingering hunger. After all, the air had more "fish" than that stew with more water than the river._

* * *

Wooden boards hung by doors proclaiming the wares and services sold within – some with drawings of boots or shirts, others a tankard, some a lute or a fiddle, or scrolls and bottles. But not all shops were indoors – there were outdoor stalls as well displaying all manner of goods. Jumbled piles of silver and copper trinkets lay on blankets spread upon the ground, next to carts of pottery and jars of varying size and function. Boxes of old tomes and rolled up parchments sat side by side with crates of fruit.

She stopped by a kiosk where rolls of cloth were stacked against the wall, and observed as a woman haggled with a merchant over a bolt of fabric. A brief memory of Ilphas and Tannyl flashed in her mind. In the woods along the Coast Way, some bandits were now likely sleeping on fur, sporting silk beneath rough leathers while robbing common folk with barely a cloak on their backs. The elf sighed and moved on to the other stalls.

One sign caught her interest despite the chipped red paint – a sword and axe crisscrossed. It wouldn't hurt to look inside even for just a minute. She wandered into the shop, surprisingly quiet and empty save for a young man dozing behind a wooden counter. Immediately she was awestruck by the sheer number of weapons of varying sizes and make displayed upon the racks lining the walls.

An idea seized upon her. What if she bought her own and get Okami to teach her with a _real_ blade instead of this clumsy stick? Wouldn't that help her learn faster? And then she could be on her own much sooner, find her answers and be back at Candlekeep before the next midwinter feast – _just as she had promised_. Irse remembered counting a few gold coins, a pair of jeweled rings and a bracelet from the elven merchants' hidden stash. These should be enough for a working weapon.

 _Swords!_ She rushed over to the display of unsheathed blades. But how best to pick out one for herself? Will it be as one of the stories she read back at home where the hero must choose from among a pile of seemingly old and broken weapons and the plainest one would turn out to be the legendary long-lost sword of his clan – just needing a spit and polish, or the blood of a self-sacrificing maiden to get its dull runes to shine. At least here in the store, she wouldn't have to fight a dragon guardian with a name of jumbled consonants to get hers.

Or perhaps the other way around – the blade itself, an ancient relic, would call to her and elect her as its sole and worthy owner. There were such swords, she vaguely remembered from the tales. _Moonblades_ , they were called. Wielded only by the bravest, strongest, most skilled, most valorous, and of course, the most strapping, broad-shouldered, tallest, ruddy and handsomest of warriors among the elves.

The elven girl let out a dreamy sigh as her eyes swept over the swords displayed upon the racks. Most of them were plain but a few were at least pretty enough, adorned with some simple design so as to be imagined a storied old family heirloom.

Her hand reached out, about to take one by the grip.

"Is there something you're looking for?" It was the shop assistant, disheveled and bleary-eyed. The sour look on his face ranted unmistakable annoyance at the interruption to his afternoon nap.

"Oh! I'm thinking I could buy a sword?" she inquired nervously. And then with a bit more excitement at remembering the small wealth in her pack, she added, "Would it be all right if I look at the best ones? Or maybe not the best ones, just something _better_ than the usual? You know, a sword with some…"

She narrowed her eyes and flitted her fingers enigmatically.

"... _Mmmagic_?"

The young man eyed her as if she was the bluntest blade in the rack.

"You mean an _enchanted_ sword?"

"Is that what they're called?"

"Yes."

"Ah-haha! I knew that! I just… forgot?" Irse chuckled timidly.

"Yeah, we had a few of them come in the other day. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd want one for yourself. After all, your kind makes a lot of those, even better than what we sell here. But as we always say, if you can't make your own then buy one."

"Great! Will this be enough?" she asked as she plunged her hand inside her pack. The elf licked her lips as she rummaged through the items hastily stuffed inside. _Ah here it is!_

Fingers squeezed at the pouch. She pulled it out, puzzled at the unfamiliar feel; mainly because it was no longer a red velvet purse tied with a silver string, filled mostly with hard coins.

It was now a small, brown, dusty loosely knotted sackcloth. _Filled with sand and small rocks._

Panicked, she flung the pouch over her shoulder and frantically rummaged through her stuff once more.

Clothes, clothes, bandages, stick, clothes. _Hole_.

Fingers wiggled as they poked out of a sizable tear at her pack. Someone had slashed her bag, taken her money, and switched them with a weighted decoy!

Bewildered, she looked up at the shop assistant with a helpless grin. The young man didn't seem amused.

* * *

Embarrassed. _And penniless now_.

Not only did the purse contain the elf merchants' gold and jewelry, but all the other coin, mostly coppers and a bit of silver she had saved and earned from when the inn needed extra help in peak visiting season. All her _life savings_ – gone!

The elf had dashed out of the store, her mind racing. But how and when did they do the deed? She was moving most of the time, not stopping long enough to give anyone the opportunity. Where the thieves that quick and light handed? And how could she not have noticed that her bag suddenly weighed slightly lighter; granted that it wasn't that much gold and the trinkets themselves were of delicate make. Th elf groaned. Of course, a doe-eyed country bumpkin gawking at everything and everyone in the big city. Distracted, easy picking for cutpurses, might as well have scrawled "Rob Me" in red ink on her back.

The urge to sit down and cry fought with the urge to smack her head with the bag of rocks. _Maybe she shouldn't have tossed that away._

Whoever they were, one or perhaps two, they could not have gotten far. A gleam from a polished helm and a halberd standing tall above the sea of heads caught her attention. Painted on the chest of his plate armor was an inverted diamond enclosing an upturned red fist in a blaze. _Flaming Fist!_ Hope welled up in her heart as she hurried towards the guard.

"Help me! Please! I've been robbed! Someone took my money!" she cried.

The man's lips scrunched, his pauldrons rising lazily before dropping with a dramatic sigh. "Sure, sure. Were you hurt, girl?" he asked without even looking at her.

"What?" she blurted, surprised by his seeming indifference.

"I _said_ , were you hurt? Thief stabbed you in the side? Held a knife to your throat?"

"No, Sir. Just my pack. They cut open my pack and took my money while I wasn't looking."

"Tough luck. Nothin' I can do 'bout it. Consider yourself lucky. Maybe next time you better watch your stuff more closely," the guard said, his eyes still averted, looking straight ahead.

"But, Sir! It was everything I-," Irse persisted as she reached out to grab the man's arm. Before she could touch him, her hand was roughly swatted away. The butt of the halberd stomped on the stone pavement as a warning.

"You want me to look for the lowlife who pinched some measly coppers off of you? No, _elf_. They posted me here to watch for big trouble, not to barge into the Guild like some dumb hero and get shanked in the neck. Now move along!" the guard barked at her.

She raised both palms in surrender, backing slowly before walking away. The girl turned around, hands on her head in frustration. Distraught, she marched along with the crowd, her feet leading her into the side streets, turning into one before being jostled off into another, then another, and another.

Her eyes scanned the countless faces streaming by, hoping to find any shady hooded character who could now be proudly wearing the stolen trinkets out in plain sight. _Don't be a ninnyhammer!_ She scolded herself. _Would a thief be so dumb as to count his loot out in the open_? Well, maybe she would, if she was one since she could never resist hanging around at the scene of her "crimes" back at the Keep. It was always the snickering that gave her away. The "pride of a perfidious perpetrator being one of the _signs" –_ as Ulraunt always sternly said to her foster father; though a sign of _what_ , the Keeper of Tomes never really did say.

Guiltily, she wondered if this was what a handful of the Avowed who studied eastern philosophy often referred to as _karma_ – something along the lines of reaping what you sow and things coming back to you a hundredfold.

The elf pouted. Surely the gods would agree this was a lopsided punishment for that time she replaced the bottom cabbages in Dreppin's wicker basket with rocks. It wasn't her fault that the groundskeeper would rather carry the burden on his back than put it on Nessie, his beloved cow. The man was already a third through the Lion's Way en route to the village before he realized that cabbages weren't supposed to weigh like the world upon his shoulders. This time though, the girl didn't smile at the memory, feeling instead the sting of loss and humiliation of having been preyed upon so easily.

Another turn, another street. Her fruitless search turned up no cowled criminals with obviously criminal faces. Everyone seemed _not_ suspicious _and_ suspicious at the same time. It was hopeless. Might as well give up and head back to the docks.

She retraced her steps, expecting to come out into the avenue that sloped down to the Docks yet she emerged into another level street that looked just like the one she had come from – similar in that it was also a noisy stretch of a cobbled path lined with stalls selling the same assortment of _everything_ , manned by people dressed in the same drabness selling to folks in the same dinginess.

 _How in Toril could everything and everyone appear the same in a huge place like this?_ And that bossy dwarf, Reevor, once said that all elves looked alike!

The street intersected with one that looked just like it and continued into another one of the same. Even tiptoed and craned her neck to peek at the horizon but it only flowed into endless streets, and a wall of buildings and towers beyond. _Ask the locals then?_ But what if they also turned out to be thieves, or worse? The hole in her bag would be nothing compared to a bigger, deeper, bloody hole in her back. It was hopeless.

Irse looked up at the sky, but it was only past noon and the Mirtul sun stayed directly overhead, no way of telling where east or west could be. Nells said they'll sail at the third hour. A bell had tolled somewhere, yet how many, she could not remember. Dread began to creep in. What if they sail without her? At the very least Okami wouldn't leave his apprentice behind, would he? But it had only been days - not long enough for him to decide she'd be worth the trouble. Her stomach churned. Back to square one then but in a _bigger_ square - broke and alone in a place like this. No wonder none of the folks who'd been outside the Keep had spoken fondly of big cities - always telling them off with a foreboding "… places like that'll swallow you whole, chew you up, then spit you out for the rats to gnaw on what's left!"

For the first time in her life, she knew she was lost.


	5. Not Rocks! (Book 1)

Gentle Readers, many thanks for giving an eye to this wee tale. May you have a great week ahead! :)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 5 – Not Rocks!**

* * *

She had finally worked up the courage to ask for directions. Unfortunately, she gathered enough versions to make oneself doubt that they were even in the same city. _And all from people in the same street._

 _Walk one block, then turn left, then left again at d' end o' that block, then left. Keep left-in'._

 _Wouldn't I be walking in circles?_

 _Rude girl! You don't live here! You think you know better than me!_

 _I'm sorry… Ma'am._ An annoyed emphasis on the salutation _. But wouldn't I be walking in circles?_

 _Now that's better! … No._

 _Aww! Poor elf! Must be scary being out of the woods and away from your tree friends, eh?_

 _I don't li-… tree friends?_

 _Do I look like the bloody Fist? Go bother them instead!_

 _I cannot, Sir. I haven't been stabbed in the face. Yet._

 _Straight ye be walkin' in yonder course now. To the docks maybe ye won't go, but come to the sea ye will somehow._

 _But I'm not going to the sea. I'm going to the river._

 _Well, they be both water anyways!_

Eventually, someone, a stall owner, managed to give her what could pass for proper directions. She thanked the woman, casting longing glances at the skewered pork roasting over the brazier between them. Almost tempted to grab one of the spits and run but the meat was still raw. Irse clutched at her stomach, rubbing it in the hopes of muffling the angry gurgling.

* * *

Weary feet, worried steps, and an empty belly. The elf shuffled listlessly along the narrow street, hunger clouding her vision that she didn't notice a furry little blur darting into her path until it was too late.

Her foot inadvertently kicked a small yet weighty body.

"Sorry, kitty!" Irse excused herself as she bent down to look at the…

 _Huge rat_ , with black matted fur and nearly the size of a small cat. It stood on its hind legs and hissed, _offended_ , then scampered away to disappear into a nearby alley.

The elf blinked in disbelief. She raised a foot, about to move on when the sound of a barrel overturning, metal clinking, and bottles breaking emanated from the backstreet.

 _Darned thing must've run into stuff and knocked it over._

"This whole dive's got too many vermin already! We don't need your kind startin' any nests here!"

It came from the same alley. At the man's words, she jerked in disgust and unconsciously scratched her arm in revulsion. Are the rats in this city so numerous, its citizens could not help but talk at them in frustration?

"Deekin no vermin! Deekin no live in nest, only wants dry hole to sleeps in."

 _And are they so huge they actually talk back?!_

Curiosity egged her to peek into the alleyway. The giant rat already sat perched on another barrel, cleaning itself meticulously, perhaps of contact with the elf.

But the man, greasy face and greasy clothes, had been speaking to someone, or rather, something else. He towered over a small hooded figure no higher than his waist. From beneath its raggedy cloak a spotted narrow tail poked out curled, and the creature hunched trembling beside a burlap sack twice its size.

"Hah, so this one can talk? How's 'bout I sell you to some freakshow, make enough coin for a pint!" the man sneered as he reached down to grab the cowled little creature.

"No! Don't sell Deekin! He not worth much!" the hooded little figure begged. But the brute roughly grabbed it anyway, hauling it to its feet. The creature wriggled in the man's grasp and struggled pathetically to reach for its sack as if its very life were in its belongings.

"Please don't hurt Deekin! Deekin mean no harm to anyone!" it cried piteously.

Its frightened yips filled the alley, high-pitched whines like a distressed pup. Irse turned away and leaned against the wall, clutching at the collar of her tunic. Clearly none of her business, one of those things that happen to anyone, any day, out of reach of anyone's care. And the creature wasn't even human.

 _Walk away now, enough problems for today, get back to going back to the docks before you forget the directions._

But whatever it was, it was clearly alone, unarmed. And scared. A brief memory of the same helplessness, fear, and smallness pricked at her heart. Not too long ago. With a deep breath, she pulled the bokken from her pack and stepped in.

"Hey! Leave him alone! Pick on someone your own size!" Irse shouted as she brandished the stick.

The thug turned to look at her, dropping the creature to the ground. "What, you pals with this li'l shite? You in some gang, huh?" he sneered.

He advanced, rubbing his fists. The girl stepped back, her grip evidently shaky on the weapon. Holding the bokken with both hands, she stiffened her arms and raised the wooden sword higher in front of her.

Was she holding the stance correctly? Perhaps it wouldn't matter now as Okami wasn't there to tell her – what with him being far away and at the docks this very moment. At the docks where she could have been safe and not facing down a stranger in a dark alley. Too late to back out now.

The man lunged at her. She inelegantly stepped to the side and brought down the stick at his shoulder. Wood connected with muscle – yet the blow landed unsure, not strong enough. He staggered forward past the elf, clutching his shoulder, but stayed on his feet. He spun around to face her, the ire clear upon his oily face.

Irse now stood between the thug and the little creature. "Run! Run!" she shouted at it. But when she craned her neck to look, it was gone, the top of its pack thrown open. Hopefully off to call for help – but would the Fist even notice something so small and timid?

He rushed at her again. But before Irse could raise her bokken, the man suddenly froze in his tracks. Frozen – eyes bulging in surprise, mouth open wide in a grimace, fingers splayed as if grabbing at the air before him.

"Hmph! That should teach bad human a lesson!" the creature sniggered.

Already standing by her side, its tiny clawed hand clutched a wand that it pointed at the man. As the creature lifted its gaze to her, its hood fell back revealing a lizard-like snout, scaly gray skin, a row of short horn-like bumps running across the top of its head.

The elf's eyes widened. "Oh, hello?" she greeted hesitantly as she let down the wooden sword. _What is this strange thing?_

Beady little eyes narrowed at her. "What? You not seen _kobold_ before? Deekin not surprised. Elfs walk tall, nose in air, never look if one not pretty like them. But you, you helped Deekin! Nice elf girl…," he said as he canted his diminutive head. "… with chewed up pointy ear? Who did that? Bad human too?"

"Uh, yes, a bad human. But not all of them are bad. Sometimes we're unlucky we run into the rotten ones. But there's a lot of good people out there, too."

Deekin tucked the wand into his cloak. "Right, right you are. Bad humans, good humans. But Deekin wishes it were easy to tell. Wishes they say first they're bad before they kick or pull the tail so Deekin don't have to ask!"

The elf nodded in sad agreement. If only the world worked in such manner – and one always learned it wasn't so in the hardest way.

The kobold shuffled over to his pack which appeared to be bursting at the seams. Deekin hastily stuffed the wand inside yet pulled out several items and dumped them on the ground.

"Are you looking for someone here at the Gate?" Irse asked.

The pile beside the sack grew steadily as the kobold yanked out and tossed scrolls, wands, daggers, a sword or two, a helmet, a bottle…

"No, Deekin only passing through. Deekin come from near Waterdeep. Climbs into wagon to hide from the rain, sleeps in a crate of nice warm hay. Sleep too well so next thing you know, Deekin already in a ship to Baldur's Gate! Takes him far too south! Now Deekin looking for wagon to take him back north. No more ships!" the kobold squeaked as he pulled up a fur-trimmed boot and carelessly chucked it at the heap.

"Found it!" Deekin cried triumphantly. He proudly held up a ring, a simple metal band crusty with patina. "Wizard say this is ring to make you invisible. Deekin wears this, and jumps into wagon, no one will bother and throw Deekin out."

With unnatural swiftness, the kobold gathered most of the things into his arms and managed to stuff everything back into the bag. A few swipes at the remaining bottles and scrolls and then these were tossed back into the pack as well.

"Well, good for you," Irse laughed as she tucked the bokken in her own pack. "Be careful out there, Mr. Deekin. I hope you get back to wherever you're going, safe and in one piece." Tail and snout and all. She gave the kobold a quick bow and made to leave the alley.

"Wait, elf girl! Deekin not give you reward yet!"

She circled around to reply. "Really, there's no need for that. You stopped him anyway; I didn't do much at all."

"No, no! Deekin wants to!" the kobold insisted, waving its skinny scaly arms to beckon at the elf. She obliged and walked back to him. Deekin tapped at his snout, grunting in high pitches as he seemed wracked by indecision.

"But what to give you? Must give you the best, most magical knickknack! And the _heaviest_ too, make it easy for Deekin to carry stuffs," he giggle-yipped. The elf raised an eyebrow.

"Ah-ha! Maybe elf girl can choose?" the kobold offered as he opened his pack and started rummaging again.

"Please, no. It's not necessary," Irse objected, genuinely embarrassed. Gorion would have scolded her for even agreeing to accept anything from anyone who didn't seem to have much themselves.

"Okay, okay! How about elf girl choose but you don't see what you'll choose?"

She knitted her brow, puzzled. "All right?"

"Close your eyes, close your eyes!" Deekin barked excitedly.

She squatted before the kobold and shut her eyes, humming as she waited, her frown deepening at the sounds of indistinguishable rattling, thumping, and yipping.

"Now you choose – left, right, middle."

Irse reached out her hand and wriggled her fingers. Where should she go? Left? Right? Middle? Why not simply pick anything, make it a gamble? No, this was still a choice and it has to count.

 _Wait, how would Gorion choose? How would Okami choose?_

Her foster father would probably say to choose with her conscience – or some such, however that could work. Her Teacher would most likely say to choose with her instinct – however that could work too, and then spout off another unrelated Kozakuran proverb just for good measure.

Her mind buzzed with arguments – not too unlike the monks squabbling over their studies during supper or at the gardens. Pick the left – but why, just because? The right, for what reason, because she's right-handed? Or the middle, because the straight-ahead path is always the correct one?

"Elfs live hundreds and hundreds of years. Do they also wait hundreds and hundreds of years to choose?" Deekin complained.

"I'm sorry. Give me a minute, please," Irse apologized, her eyes still closed. This was becoming frustrating. A simple choice, but one she couldn't make herself so easily. The debates were getting louder.

 _Quiet_! She demanded, inside. And breathed. And felt nothing, thought nothing. The world outside the alley whirled on, footsteps and conversations passing by and then gone. Nothing.

And in that nothing, her hand moved of its own accord, drawn by an unseen string vibrating. To her left.

Irse opened her eyes. In disbelief, she glanced at the choices she had passed over. To her right – a gilded crossbow, in the middle in front of her – an ornamented short sword.

And to her left where her right hand hovered above – four of the plainest looking rocks one could find by the side of the road.

Before her shoulders could sag in disappointment, the kobold clapped his hands and leaped over and over in excitement.

"Elf girl made the best choice! She must have choosing magic!"

"Rocks?" Irse asked politely, though with effort.

He gathered the stones and held them up for her to see. "Kurtulmak! They're not rocks, they're _meteorites_! Stones from the sky! One night, Deekin saw them fall like dragonfire, then followed them to where they made big burning hole in the ground!"

She placed a hand upon her mouth, amazed. _Meteorites_. Brother Karan had mentioned these – objects from the heavens beyond Toril, journeying through the stars until drawn to this world's atmosphere.

Deekin placed the meteorites in her hands and gave her a small sack to carry them in. Dusky gray with flecks of red, surface twisted and pocked in some places, and surprisingly heavier than their size would suggest.

So these were the very things that shoot down from the sky in a brilliant yet brief streak of light. Stars that carried her wishes as she sat upon the tower roof in Candlekeep, gazing wistfully at the moon in his beauty gliding across the firmament above the Sea of Swords.

"But these are rare! They must be valuable. I can't accept these, you might need them more than I do," Irse protested as she tried to give them back. The kobold waved his hands dismissively.

"No, no! Deekin keep trying to sell but everyone thinks Deekin not saying the truth," the kobold said dejectedly.

"Now Deekin gots no use for them, but still t _oo precious to throw at stupid gnomes!_ "

She stared at the rocks in her palms, tightening her grip in one hand while rubbing her other thumb across the surface of another. She wouldn't know what to do with them either, but the mere thought of holding a piece of the heavens in one's hands was already incredible in itself.

Perhaps she could hang on to them, give them to Gorion, Imoen, and Karan as presents. Well, knowing them knowing her, they would likely insist she was sporting with them and giving them mere chunks of coal. But Gorion, the sage, would surely identify them to be real for he knew much knowledge and required her to learn them.

 _Required her to learn of many things and all, except for the truth._

She paused for a moment, and forcefully exhaled to expel the thoughts from her head.

"What about him?" Irse asked and pointed at the man still unmoving from the spell that Deekin's wand had cast.

"Him? No worry for him, he moves again later," the kobold said.

"Oh, all right. I suppose we should get going -" She looked back at Deekin.

"… then?"

The kobold and his pack were already gone. Round the corner of the end of the alley, a tiny almost embarrassed _toot_ whistled faintly.

The elf sniffed at the air and coughed, but smiled forgivingly. She hastily stuffed the meteorites into the sack, made a step to leave the alley but turned back to look at the man.

Looked at the alley exit, at the man again, and considered something for a moment. Making shifty glances around her, Irse took hold of the man's hands and stuffed his thumbs all the way up into his nostrils.

And then she sprinted out of the backstreet with a snicker and a grin of exhilaration.

* * *

And a few scribblings here:

Deekin Scalesinger appears courtesy of Neverwinter Nights. Perhaps a significant break from his canon, but I'm sure Master Tymofarrar would forgive the little guy as long as he brings home a pie.

Chapter title and Deekin's exclamation ("Kurtulmak! They're not rocks…") are references to Breaking Bad character Hank Schaeder's line - "Jeez, Marie! They aren't rocks! They're minerals!" or some such. XD

Am now sorely desirous to write Xan saying, "I am the One who Dooms."


	6. Pebbles at the Gate (Book 1)

Dearest Readers, my thanks as always. May your skies everyday be as blue and clear as the one outside my window. ^_^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 6 : Pebbles at the Gate**

* * *

"S'cuse me! Comin' through!"

It was the only warning she got before something barreled right into her. Wind and the bag of meteorites were knocked out of her lungs and hands, and the sky suddenly filled her field of vision as she sailed backwards before landing on the ground. At least the backpack cushioned her spine from the impact but it left her awkwardly prone upon the pavement.

 _Like the bugs she used to tip over with a stick, back at home, wriggling and helpless_. The elf sighed and resolved to be a bit more compassionate towards little critters.

"Sorry, sir! I mean- miss! Sorry!"

At her side, a little girl on her knees, tousled pink hair a stark contrast with the brownish rags she wore. It took a moment of collecting her wits before she noted the chiseled heart-shaped face smeared with mud and somewhat elongated though rounded ears. _A halfling._

"Watch where you're going," Irse huffed as she pulled herself up and struggled to stand. Irritated, the elf patted at her trousers and checked her sleeves, frowning at the patches on her elbows. As if it weren't enough to be showered with the dust of the road, now she was mopping the filthy cobbles of the city.

"I didn't mean to! I was in a hurry!" the girl piped meekly. Small hands apologetically dusted at Irse's behind, her back, even her knees.

"No, no. That's enough, really. I'm all right. Just be careful," she said crossly.

"If you say so, _ma'am_!" the halfling chirped before dashing off without another glance.

 _Well, the kid really seemed to be in a hurry_. At least she herself wasn't, given the likely generous hour or more before the third bell. Irse watched the girl scurry away, then put her hands on her hips and stomped one foot to shake off the dust at the side of her shoe. She bent down to pick up the sack of meteorites.

 _Gone_.

 _The halfling_! Irse growled and turned around. Not wasting another moment, she launched herself in the direction where she last saw the kid, pushing roughly through the passersby and ignoring the angry grunts and protests. As she raced through the crowds, Irse jogged and skipped to peer over the moving wall of shoulders. Someone once mentioned she was quite tall for a female elf, even a head above some human women. Yet in this sea of people, zeroing in on something small particularly and the height of a human child, proved desperately difficult.

She finally spotted the halfling, strolling briskly, perhaps seeking new pickings, oblivious that her victim was already in pursuit. Then the little girl suddenly picked up pace, widening the distance between them.

 _She's getting away! Do something!_ Perhaps if she called everyone's attention, someone would help her.

"Thief! Stop her! The halfling!"

As expected, the pink-haired girl paused, turned around, mouth gaping in surprise at seeing the elf pointing at her. But as not expected, only a few heads turned, shrugged, then went on with their business. The rest didn't even seem to notice at all!

The halfling's eyes darted around, then seeing the inattention of the crowd, shrugged her shoulders apologetically at Irse, then turned tail and ran.

"Awww! C'mon, folks!" Irse wailed, arms flailing for a moment before she gave chase once more. Unfortunately, the thief was now alert to her, moving faster, nimbly weaving her way through passing pedestrians. The elf did her best to catch up, lungs starting to burn with desperation.

They reached the end of the street, blocked by a parked uncovered wagon clearly intended to close off incoming traffic. The girl dived beneath it, disappearing from the elf's view. Irse finally reached the carriage, ran around it but halted.

An intersection, crowds coming and going in all directions. She whirled around, but saw no sign of the halfling. Panic gnawed at her heart for she knew by the time she had thoroughly checked all possible routes, the thief would surely be gone by then.

Again she looked up at the sky, clear and endless, a flock of gulls sailing overhead. How peaceful their lives must be, the elf mused with envy. Free and far above the mess she found herself in now, to their eyes the world below would have been laid out like a map – everything smaller and seen in a single glance.

 _Wait_.

She snapped out of it and quickly considered something as her gaze swept around her. _Why not? The buildings here aren't as tall as the tower back at home – but it should be possible!_

No ladder close by, but the wagon to her left already stood against the building, brake lock engaged. Quickly, Irse scrambled for its side, one foot slipping into the hub of the wheel closest to the wall, the other finding purchase on the sideboard allowing her to climb into the wagon bed. She mounted the piled crates, high enough to let her grasp at the eaves. The elf pulled herself over, a silent prayer to whichever god ruled all roofs and shingles in the realms that the carpenters in the Gate were a quarter as good as the ones who built the Keep.

Once fully standing on the rooftop which thankfully didn't slant as sharply as the houses in the village back at home, Irse cast a quick sweeping glance at the entire street in all directions then crossed over the mid ridge to do the same for the one on her right. The halfling and her pink hair was still nowhere in sight.

Now to get to the rooftops across the street, to her left. She scooted over to where the wagon was parked only to find it being pushed away by several men.

The elf gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, hurled an imaginary stone at the wagon, then sighed. Of course, it shouldn't be impossible to climb down even without a ladder, but she just wished the world could smile on her today and the things in her path either _not be in the way_ , or at least be _a way._

The roof was still two stories high. She could try lowering herself by the edge to get closer to the ground, then jump down, hopefully without breaking a leg. Irse had crouched down when a familiar furry little form scurried along the eaves and towards her. Remembering the last encounter, the elf politely got up to give it room to pass. Her eyes followed the rat as it scampered away in the direction from where she came.

Several feet away, the rat then turned to its right and casually crossed a stone buttress which spanned the street below, connecting with one of the buildings directly across her.

 _Just like a small bridge._

Without wasting another moment, Irse dashed over to the buttress, stopping at its edge. Too narrow for human passage for which it was not built, but wide enough for two feet to stand on. Well then, if it could hold a well-fed rat several times in a day, then it should hold a starving elf once.

She placed one foot upon it. Slowly? No, not enough time. One deep breath and she began the crossing, arms raised to the sides to steady herself.

A quarter of the way, someone yelled, "Get down from there!" followed by, "Crazy kid!"

"Sorry!" Irse replied, out of reflex. The next step wobbled and she immediately crouched down to grasp at the sides. _Don't stop!_ _The tower at home was much higher than this! You can't let her get away!_

Brows furrowed with determination, the elf got up, quickened her pace and emptied her mind with everything except for the end of the pathway. As she did, a sense of knowing came upon her, each footfall assured by a natural rhythm. Swift yet steady, the body instinctively balancing itself, the narrow buttress becoming a sure path beneath her feet. Before she knew it, she was already on the roof of the other building.

No time to celebrate, though. Irse crossed over the mid ridge and scanned the other street. Again, no sign of the halfling. Wherever she was, the little scamp would certainly be hiding now in some hole, gloating over the stolen prize. A sack of rocks. _Her sack of rocks_.

The double sting of losing something so rare and valuable, and losing to a street urchin goaded her to keep looking. But she was so tired. _And hungry_. In an hour they will be leaving anyway; the thought of food and Okami waiting for her brought a measure of comfort. And a trip through the river! She had never been on a riverboat – certainly not as grand as the seafaring galleons she had read about, but still it was something and at least not as dangerous. And a boat would be equivalent to a roof over the head at night. _And getting fed._

Irse settled herself by the edge, retying her hair and tightening the string. From her perch, she could now see all the way to the Docks, confirming the directions from the stall owner. She could at least sit down for a moment, enjoy the view and catch her breath.

As she waited, her eyes idly watched the people below go about their business. Several minutes went by, and then from behind a pile of barrels not too far, pink hair and brown rags emerged, furtively looking sideways.

The elf saw and tensed, edging away slightly to keep from being seen. The halfling appeared relieved, finally venturing out and squatting at the dirty pavement. Her little head perked up at apparent interest at the sight of a small group walking by. Not richly dressed yet clean, likely servants or artisans with at least a coin pouch on their person. The halfling slowly stood up, eyes locked onto her new targets. The elf did the same. Quietly and quickly, Irse walked briskly ahead of the group's direction. Right away, the roof sloped down to a storey's height as the adjoining building was much lower. Low enough now for the elf to climb down without a ladder.

Once standing again on the street, she strolled up to the approaching troop, then stopped as they streamed past her. Sure enough, the little thief had followed them in another attempt. The halfling bumped into her again, but this time, the elf remained standing.

"Hey," Irse greeted, though unfriendly.

The little girl squeaked and turned around to flee but was quickly caught by the elf's much longer and determined reach. The halfling struggled and hugged the sack to her body as Irse worked to pry it off.

"Lemme' go you stupid pointy-ears or I swears I'll cut you!" the halfling girl threatened.

Irse smirked. "Want me to put you down so you can say that to my _knee_?"

The elf tightened her embrace despite the desperate squirming. "Look, kiddo! I don't have time for this! Give me back my stuff now!" she said.

"I didn't steal it! You tossed it anyway; I just picked it up! Finder's keepers!"

"Because you pushed me on purpose, you thieving little - !"

"Did someone say _thief_?"

Both girls paused, the halfling's legs suddenly limp and dangling. Two human Flaming Fist mercenaries, a man and a woman, approached them, steel greaves clanking on the cobblestones.

At the sight of the armored humans, the halfling began to tremble. "Oh no! The Fist!" she whispered, frightened.

Irse loosened her hold and let the girl stand on her own, keeping one hand firmly gripped on her collar. However, small fingers grasped at the elf's waist, tiny desperate anchors. A quick glance at the halfling's face and Irse saw terror in the childlike eyes.

The elf sighed and made a decision.

"What's going on here with you two?" the female guard snapped.

"Nothing… nothing, ma'am. We're just… playing a game."

"Aww yeah? What kind o' game?" the male guard drawled.

The elf blinked. "Uh… _Fists and Thieves_?"

The two guards exchanged looks. "I'll wager a guess," the woman said as she pointed at the elf. " _You're_ the Fist and the halfling's the thief?"

"Oh? Oh, yes! Yes! That's right. Look! I even got my own pretend sword!" Irse answered brightly, pulling the bokken out of her pack. The halfling's eyes widened at the sight of the carved weapon.

"Just like what you folks get – what do you call it? _Standard issue_!" the elf added, a little too eagerly, recalling the Watchers talking about their gear. The two Fist guards cast an appraising eye at the "toy weapon".

"Not bad. But don't be showing that to the Grand Dukes or they might get ideas for what's _standard issue_!" the woman remarked dryly, eyes rolling.

"Yeah. Always tellin' us they be pinchin' pennies now. How 'bout the Lady Duke herself go pinch my arse an' call it a _pay_!" the man said. Both guards guffawed while elf and halfling each contributed a forced chuckle.

"Say… aren't you _too old_ to be playing games, _elf_?" the female mercenary suddenly asked, eyes narrowing.

Irse stiffened. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

Instead, the second guard answered, "Naaww, you know, you elves always be lookin' like fresh sprouts in our eyes; but _you_ \- ehh, we can tell you're really a three-hundred year-old gran'ma!"

" _Me?! A G- Grandma?!"_ the elf stammered incredulously. Beside her, the halfling sniggered.

The first guard waved a dismissive hand. "Well, well, whatever makes your kind feel young again. Just play quietly and stay out of trouble!"

The second guard gave her a mock salute and the two resumed their patrols. The elf glared with narrowed eyes at the back of the helmed heads.

"Hey!"

Irse turned around and caught the sack thrown at her. Hurriedly, she untied the string and checked the contents – all four still intact. She exhaled with relief.

The halfling rubbed her nose as she stepped up closer. "I didn't look in yet. What you got there anyways you'd want it back so badly?"

The elf let her peek into the sack to see the meteorites.

"Sheesh! Just a bunch of dumb ugly rocks?"

Irse opened her mouth to correct the little girl but decided otherwise.

"Yes, rocks."

"Oh! So magical elf rocks! Do they go boom? Maybe glow like a lamp? Or how 'bout they take you places – whaddya call it? Terpol-? Terpolltashun—"

"Teleportation. No, they don't do any of those things."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. They're just ordinary rocks." Well, not entirely untrue. Perhaps among the whole bunch of meteorites in space up there, these one's were the most ordinary, got bored from floating around the spheres and decided to sneak out of the quiet and vast grandness of the stars and into the loud, cramped, and grimy world that is Toril. _Story of her life_.

"You mean you went through all that trouble just to get back a bunch of rocks?"

Irse shot her a smug look. "No, _you_ went through all that trouble just to steal a bunch of rocks."

 _Never mind the desperate chase, the unhelpful people, the wagon climb, the roof walking, and the fly crossing that could've been a fall and a broken neck._

Annoyed, the halfling girl pouted, crossed her arms and looked away. Curiosity, however, eventually overrode all offenses taken for no more than a second had passed when the girl sidled up to her.

" _Soooo_ … what you gonna do with 'em anyways?"

"I don't know." _Truth_. Irse picked out one and gazed at it solemnly. "It's a me-, I mean, a nice ordinary rock. Maybe give it for a present to someone important to me?"

"Like who? Your _boooyfriend_? Who's the lucky _grandpa_?"

The elf nearly dropped the meteorite. "What? Ew, no! Gross! How could you even think that? You're only what -eight years old? Ten?"

The pink-haired girl stuck out her tongue in triumph. "Ha ha! Wrongsies! I just turned eighteen this spring! That how you elf grannies see all the not-old folks? Like big walking babies?"

Irse jokingly aimed the meteorite at the girl who flinched but giggled. The elf ranted, "I. Am. Not. A. Grandma! I'm even younger than you! I'm only fift- "

A loud gurgling noise suddenly cut the air between them. The halfling jumped and exclaimed, "Tymora's toes! What _is_ that? Sounds like a giant king toad ate a hive of gassy swamp bees then fell right into our sink plumbin'!"

Irse grinned sheepishly and rubbed her tummy. " _Thaaat_ would be my stomach. I'd buy myself something but I got robbed earlier too."

"Aaaww! That's terrible!" the little girl exclaimed in genuine sympathy. She grabbed the elf by the hand. "Well, come on now! Let's get you somethin' to eat! Mama wouldn't let anyone go a day without a bite, and I shouldn't too. I knows a place cheap but tasty here in the Lower City!"

Before Irse could object, she found herself being pulled headlong through the crowds.

"What's your name, elfie?" the halfling yelled over her shoulders.

"Me? Irse. You?"

"Keep up, Irse! Unless your rocks can do the teleportie thingie!" the girl answered back, her eager little legs scampering excitedly. Meanwhile the elf half-ran, half-stumbled, unable to pry herself from the tiny iron grip on her hand.

"But I got to get to the East Docks! Someone's waiting for me there!"

"Don't worry! Just a quick bite and I'm takin' you there myself!"

Soon they arrived at a street that had more food stands than the others. Her mouth and eyes watered at the savory smoke from different roasting meats mingling with the garlicky aroma of those frying on pans. They passed by one kiosk, close enough for her keen nose to catch the crisp scent of freshly sliced fruits on clotted cream while the next one embraced her with the buttery sweetness of freshly baked rolls. The elf briefly closed her eyes. _The smell of the kitchens at the Keep. Home_.

"This is the place I was tellin' you!"

It was a stall selling meat buns, so it said on a painted wooden sign. _Bartha's Meat Buns._ Customers picked their choice of greasy deep-fried buns from the pile on the counter and handed their coins to the hawker, a middle-aged woman with a squashed nose and jowly cheeks.

"Heya, Missus B.!"

" _Alora_! Ya li'l punk! Where'd ya get yer grubby paws into now?" Bartha hollered.

"Nowhere, Missus B.! See, my paws're clean today! You're not tellin' Mama anything this time!" the halfling girl chirped as she proudly held up both hands. "Could me an' my pal have a couple?"

"So you can run off like a thievin' li'l mouse without payin' again? Hah!"

Alora quickly pushed Irse in front of her. "Of course not! I'm with an elf here. An' you know elves are honest an' honorable, right? And rich from havin' so many magical thingies!"

"I don't have any money, remember?" Irse hissed through half-open lips.

" _Sssh!_ Just play along!"

"Ah, yes, Madam Bartha!" _Gods, this isn't going to work_. "By my honor as the Lady, eh, Flower... _Flowermoon_! Yes! My name is Lady Flowermoon!"

Irse heard a tiny smack, Alora facepalming behind her for sure.

"As I said, no, _swear,_ " the elf continued, a haughty finger raised to go with the feigned, high-pitched pompousness. "By my honor as the honest and honorable, and wealthy Lady Flowermoon, we shall surely compensate you handsomely in exchange for these delicacies. For you see, I, uh, travelled far from my _very_ _elven homeland_ in search of the most delicious meat bun in all of the realms. And now our kind little _friend_ here..." Irse said with gritted teeth while roughly mousing Alora's hair. The halfling yelped and glared in return.

"... has boasted that yours is the finest in this city. Perhaps you would permit us a sample to test her claims?"

Irse looked down at the halfling and grinned, eyebrows raised expectantly for approval. It does pay to bury one's nose in epic tales instead of boring philosophy treatises. Alora shot her an unimpressed look.

Bartha rubbed one jowl as she eyed the elf from head to toe. "Hmmm... ne'er had an elf talk to me before. Just as foppish as I thought yer kind would be," the woman said. "Fine! Ye can have one each!"

Alora gleefully swiped six buns from the counter and handed three of them to the elf.

"Oi! I said two! Now that'll be thirty coppers total!"

Alora wagged a finger. "Wait, Missus B.! If the Lady Floppieboon -"

"Flowermoon, I think," Irse corrected in a whisper.

"... Flummerwoon likes it, then she'll give you, er, thirty gold pieces instead of coppers!"

The hawker's eyes gleamed at the mention of gold. Her jowls shook, mouth about to say something when she was interrupted by knocking at the other end of the counter. A handful of impatient and hungry customers had already gathered. The woman grunted and waved at them before turning again to the two girls.

"Ye two an' yer gold stay right there!" she barked at them before hauling herself off the stool to waddle over to the waiting buyers.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Mama keeps a tab for me with Missus B. Okay, what're you waiting for? Dig in! Oh, you already did!" Alora's eyes widened at seeing two of the buns gone and the third one already halfway into the elf's mouth. As soon as the last piece was fully devoured, she quickly offered one of hers to Irse who took the bun with thanks and wasted no time tearing through it as well.

"Golly, you're really hungry aren't you?"

"You've no idea. I had fish stew that some man was selling at the docks; whole thing tasted more like water in a mop bucket than fish."

"Oh, that? Yeah, they say he gets his broth water from under the piers. The fish from all the bits the other fishers cut off from their catch and toss in the river; that's why it's so cheap."

Irse suddenly paled, wanting to hurl, but still she took the last bite and swallowed just the same. Wouldn't do to waste food especially when it's free. Something scratched at her inner cheek and she picked it out with a finger.

"They were really nice but… ugh. Pig bristle." Though it was _suspiciously_ long for pig bristle. "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is," she begged, wagging the whisker-like piece.

"Relax, it ain't rat. Well, this time."

 _Good to hear. Wait, what did she meant by "this time"?_

"Rabbit?" _Please, be rabbit. Please, be rabbit._

"We sure ain't in a cabbage patch are we? Naw, it's just cat."

"Oh." Cat. _Cat!_

" _This is cat meat?_ " Irse screamed. Bartha and the customers whirled around and stared at them. One of the men eating suddenly looked ill.

"Whaddya yappin' on there elf? Ya really one o' those damned health inspectors, aren't ya! I paid yer boss good coin fer this year's permit!" Bartha yelled as she waddled back to their side of the counter, wielding a smoking rusty frying pan still dripping with recently used days-old grease.

Alora grabbed Irse by the hand and tugged. "Uh-oh! She's mad again! We gotta' bail! Now!"

The pair hightailed it out of the street, diving into the crowds, Irse following the halfling as she wiped at her mouth with her sleeve. Soon enough, they were within the familiar sight of unfurled sails and gulls soaring low. They stopped to catch their breath, laughing in between gasps for air.

"You know, I feel bad for Bartha. I don't want her to close shop, it's her living after all, but she ought to find something better to put in those buns."

"Naw, don't worry 'bout Missus B. Folks always say that of her buns, but we all come back for more anyways," Alora assured her. "An' besides, maybe it really ain't kitty meat. Maybe the alley cats just got into the pork and lost a whisker there."

"But… that's just as bad," Irse said, scowling as she remembered the strict rules on cleanliness that governed the Keep's kitchens. She looked at the river ships still docked at the pier. "I need to go now. Thanks for the bite and for bringing me here."

Alora beamed and rubbed her nose. "And thanks for not turning me in! 'Wish I could take you to my place instead but with that stomach of yours, I doubt Mama would ever let you leave."

The two exchanged goodbyes and high-fives. Irse watched the halfling walk away, briefly seeing a vision of the girl she left behind at Candlekeep, younger but just as cheerful and sprightly. She smiled and turned around to look for Shar-Teel's boat.

Except, she couldn't remember the ship's name, which she couldn't even read in the first place. Ah well, she could just ask around.

The bell tolled, and the elf counted three peals and panicked. _They're about to leave_! But which of the many ships – and some already disengaging from the pier – was it? She hugged both pack and sack of meteorites and blazed down the walkway. One ship had its plank being pulled back. It must be them!

"Stop! Wait for me!"

The plank paused and the elf leaped at it, crossed the length in one bound, and she was in the boat. Her Teacher and the Captain stood at the deck, their backs turned to her while gazing at the horizon.

"Gods! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I got lost and robbed and everything! I promise I won't be late again!" Irse pleaded while wheezing, genuinely contrite and ashamed.

The blacksmith and captain turned around.

"Wait, you're not -" Irse gasped.

The two men, one with slightly wavy raven hair like Okami's and another with broomlike sandy blonde as Shar-Teel's, merely shook their heads.

"Captain Shar-Teel?"

Their expressions changed from blank surprise to obvious dislike. "Third one to my right," one of the men said, pointing at the other boat. A quick and embarrassed thanks, and the elf quickly ran down the plank, heading straight for Shar-Teel's boat.

Fortunately, they were still docked and Nells had just alighted from the ship. The woman smiled good-naturedly. "Here you are! Your master's out there looking for you. Good thing too, Dotie's not here yet; we can wait a while."

Relief was immediately replaced with dread. Her Teacher out there - _alone, among_ _heartless thieves, a scourge of rats, and unsanitary cat meat!_

Without another thought, Irse blurted, "I'll go look for him! _I'll bring him back!_ Sorry for the trouble but could you wait for us, please?"

Nells nodded, seemingly puzzled. Irse whirled around and Okami was already there, a parcel in one hand. Her heart nearly burst with relief at the sight of her Teacher.

Nonchalantly, Okami scratched the thin beard on his chin. "I enquired around in the Lower City as to your whereabouts. Fortunately, I have not come far when one of the sellers remembered seeing a flame-haired elf running towards the direction of the East Docks. Strangely though, this _fox_ was following a _pink-haired mouse_ ," he said, a questioning brow raised at her.

Irse grinned cheekily. The parcel was handed to her and she looked at him curiously.

"Consider these as reparations for my poor choice of a meal for us, earlier today."

Gingerly, she unwrapped it. _Please, don't be the Mystery Meat Bun... please, don't be the Mystery Meat Bun,_ Irse chanted silently though in all honesty, she knew she would still eat them anyway.

 _Butter rolls!_ With pure joy she closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma, practically shoving her nose into them. Okami walked past her without another word. The elf quickly re-wrapped the bread and put them in her pack.

Irse cast one last look at the Gate, then turned around to follow him into the ship.


	7. Riverbed (Book 1)

Gentle Reader, may your sailing days be one of clearest skies and calmest waters. ^_^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 7 : Riverbed**

* * *

"Just what we need t' round up the rest of the crew... a stinkin' leaf-muncher an' a sappy-faced noodle-slurper!" the dwarven woman, Dotie, jeered. Gingery braids and a bulbous nose, a fuzzy chin with a few fresh nicks, yet with a pale and grayish cast to her skin unlike the more commonly fair or tanned stout folk. Barrel-chested like the males of her kind, Dotie puffed herself up as she eyeballed the newcomers standing on the deck.

"Better than a bottom keg- kisser," Irse mumbled, eyes averted to the side.

"What's that? Got somethin' to say to my face, _elf_?"

Irse shook her head, lips quirked. Dotie turned to Shar-Teel who was idly manning the helm.

"Ya should've bought a damned goat instead! More useful than these soddin' lubbers!"

The captain grunted, "Yeah, I was, Dotie. 'Was going to. But then I remembered we already got a crewmate with a _beard_."

Shar-Teel then trained her eye lazily at the female dwarf.

"Except _you shaved_ again yesterday."

The elf snorted a giggle then clapped a hand on her mouth. Dotie rounded on her with a menacing glare before stomping over to Shar-Teel. As captain and crewmate commenced with what sounded like yesterday's unfinished argument, Irse felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Okami, beckoning her with a slight tilt of his head to follow him down to the cargo hold. They descended a short flight of steps and found Nells waiting for them below. The first mate sighed and rolled her eyes towards the main deck, seemingly grateful that the ceiling had enough thickness to muffle the wave of colorful curses now streaming above their heads.

"You'll have to excuse Dotie... and the Captain... and well, everybody else had they been here," Nells apologized. She briefed the two on their duties with Okami assigned to the heavier tasks such as working with the rest of the crew on the rigging, steering, and repairs on account of his skills as a smith. Meanwhile, the girl was relegated mostly to cleaning duties or anything else requiring a light hand.

"But I can do more," Irse insisted, adamant that she not appear a burden or worse, a slacker.

"I know that, dear. But there's a lot of cleaning and maintenance left undone what with fewer of us to divvy up the work now." The captain never really cared much for a spotless vessel, the first mate assured the girl, but it was better they weren't at least sailing on a floating pigsty.

"Not that everything ought to be clean and gleaming like the Ducal Palace, only that none us gets a nasty infection and end up with a fever or losing a hand or leg every time we get scratched by a wall or the bannisters," Nells admitted with some embarrassment as she walked up to a section of the inner hull where a patch of slime had settled contentedly. The woman rapped her knuckle next to the brownish-greenish gunk; the elf imagined for a moment the slime wriggling and waving at them in welcome.

"This one might've been a spot of gravy from a turkey dinner we had last midwinter feast... ehh, days ago."

Irse's eyes widened. It was already Mirtul. Midwinter was months ago.

Okami leaned close to his apprentice and whispered a warning, "Do not let your bare skin make contact with any surface. I may not have enough _san qi_ for both of us."

"But isn't that for bleeding?"

"Yes, in case we must amputate more than one gangrenous appendage."

Realizing that the first mate was still in their presence, the pair straightened up, master coughing and student twiddling her thumbs.

Surprisingly, Nells didn't seem the least bit insulted. "Eh, now would be the time to tell you we only have enough bandages and salves onboard for minor scrapes. Last season hasn't been good to us, but Shar-Teel promised us a…," Nells drifted off, frowned and looked to the side. "… A well-paying contract… this trip. We can at least afford a healing potion or two. You know, just in case," she recovered with a forced smile.

They were shown their quarters, a cramped bare room with two hammocks. Clothes had been carelessly piled into one, some pieces dangling upon the ropes. Irse tentatively pulled down two shirts and spread them out – the first evidently belonging once to a large man, the other clearly a child's.

"I guess this was Beno's? Oh, and you had a kid with you here?" she asked absently.

"Risa's, actually. A half-orc. The smaller one is Lolla's, a gnome."

The elf blinked. _Risa, the hopelessly romantic lovestruck half-orc, and Lolla, the excessively manwhore-mongering gnome_. Silently she thanked the gods for blessing the crew with at least one sane member.

They returned to the deck where Nells gave them a few more instructions and left the two to themselves. Okami found a bucket and a mop and handed them to his student.

"To our tasks then, sailor," he said.

She stood smartly and gave him a mock salute. "Aye, aye…," she cheered, following with a cautious peek at Shar-Teel who was looking elsewhere, then grinned at her Teacher and whispered.

"… Captain."

* * *

Back and forth the mop swished across the floor, punctuated by the slosh of the head dunking into the bucket of water. Humming a wordless tune, she thought back on her former chores at the Keep. _A calculated risk_ , she had overheard Gorion and Tethoril confer among themselves, to keep the girl busy, distracted from causing trouble, and out of Ulraunt's hair. Most importantly, _supervised_. Fortunately for her, the laborers weren't keen on babysitting, trusting enough to delegate the tasks to the elven child. An arrangement she much preferred over the Master of Tome's initial command that she be under the constant watch of any of his own lackeys – detesting the idea of being scrutinized, bossed and ordered around like a mindless golem, smothered with comparisons to a race and culture she had never lived with.

She paused, mop in her hand, eyes smiling at the trees and brushes along the riverbank passing them by. Out here where there were no walls, she was a nobody and out of everyone's sights, free to make her own choices. No illusions were harbored from the start – she was too young to be a swashbuckling hero scouring dungeons and defeating dragons. She dreamed about it like any child, but such a life wasn't always for everyone. Right now, it would be to find her parents, return to the monastery if they were no longer among the living, live, be happy, and be whatever she might be. _Whatever that may be_.

"Quit yer gawkin', knife-ear! Or are ya missin' yer trees over there? Just ask nicely an' I'll oblige with a, heh heh, _friendly_ hand."

Footsteps approached her from behind, the stomping on the wooden planks heavy and deliberate. How high could the dwarf possibly lift those stubby legs to make that much sound? She exhaled deeply and dunked the mophead into the bucket, churning the water within.

"What do you want, Dotie?"

"Ye best be callin' yer betters a _ma'am_ , ya woody worm."

"We're passengers, _paying passengers_. Only that Nells was generous enough to give us something to do to pass time."

"I don't give a fishies' arse what that _half-er_ says. Too soft in the guts, that's what she is."

 _Half-er?_

"Oh, an' ye be missin' a spot," Dotie mocked.

"Hmmm? Where?" the elf asked just to humor her.

The dwarf shoved a finger up her bulging nose, twirling it deeply as physically possible, then pulled it out and flicked a boogie in front of her. "Right… _here_."

A swish of the mop head and the deed was done. Dotie picked her nose again and flicked a second one on the floor. This time the projectile was sizable enough for the girl to see.

"Another one, elf. Don't get sloppy now!"

Irse leaned on the mop, raising an indifferent brow at the floor. "I'll clean up when you're finished. Let me know when you're done."

"Oh, I can do this _all day_!"

" 'Course you can, but seeing you don't have much of a nose but a whole lot of finger going up _there_ , you'll soon run out of brains to pick out. Or you don't have one and it's really ear wax you're scraping through your nose all this time."

"Ah! So ya got a mouth there on ya! Now yer pushin' fer it, oozebait!" Dotie raged and advanced at the girl. Irse stepped back, mop pulled out of the bucket and now firmly gripped in both hands.

"Dotie! _Dotiedotiedotie_!" a welcome voice piped up in a strained singsong. Nells poked hear head through the door to the cargo hold. Smiling as if nothing was amiss, the first mate walked up to them, awkwardly bending at the waist to place a friendly hand down on the dwarf's shoulder.

"I've been looking for you! I need you to do inventory while Okami moves those crates in the cargo hold."

The dwarf glowered in frustration at the elf before turning to the other woman. "What? Limp noodle can't handle it by himself?"

Nells handed her a list. "He can, but it's much faster and efficient if you work together."

Muttering curses under her breath, Dotie yanked the parchment from the first mate's hand and tramped over to the door. As soon as the dwarf was gone, Nells shot the girl a conspiratorial wink.

"Try not to pay too much mind to Dotie. She's part gray dwarf, just can't seem to get along with anyone seeing as how we're all _surfacers_ here," Nells chuckled nervously, then became solemn in expression. "Though sometimes I wonder what's truly responsible for that - the duergar in her blood or what others expected of her before they even know her."

 _A duergar_. No wonder, given the gray pallor of her skin and obvious hostility. Irse realized that Nells was looking at her, a worried frown on her face. The girl knew what the woman was looking at.

"It's an old injury. Don't worry, Dotie can't jump that high for sure," Irse said as she rubbed her left ear.

"Seems like it. Didn't want to pry before; I'm sure you have your reasons and Mister Okami's a good man, but aren't you _too young_ to be traveling on your own and away from your fellow _Tel'Quessir_?"

The girl's eyes brightened and she pumped a fist in the air. "Thank you! Gods! Thank you! Somebody finally gets me!"

Nells stared at her, baffled for a moment. Irse grinned awkwardly and told the other woman of her journey so far. The first mate listened quietly, the kind smile never leaving her face. When the elf was done with her story, Nells reached up a hand and pulled at the knots of her bandanna, shaking her auburn waves and pulling them away from her ears which had always been hidden out of sight. Ears broad like a human's but with the unmistakable yet slightly pointed tip.

"You're a half-elf!" the girl exclaimed. No wonder Dotie had derisively called Nells a half-er, and that she had used the same word the elven merchants had called themselves. The _Tel'Quessir_ \- as if Ilphas was making sure that it was the first elven word that Irse must learn from them; _she_ \- the poor unfortunate elven child raised by _N'Tel'Quess_ or non-elves, those _Not of The People_.

"That I am. Though it's my father who's the half-elf. You could say I'm a quarter-elf, but to the world I'll always be a half of both races. And depending on which side you ask, I could be a tenth of one and they'd still say I have too much of the other."

Irse nodded in agreement. Of the few occasions that elven and half-elven visitors were at the Great Library at the same time, and the girl strictly told to stay out of their sight, she and Imoen would sit at the inn's kitchens listening to Winthrop relay in his own and more colorful way, the barbs that both sides would not-so-secretly hurl at each other.

"Don't have much of a story myself. Only that my mother died from a lingering illness years ago and my father lives now in Elventree, where those like us are more accepted by The People. When I've saved a good sum and I can be sure that Shar-Teel won't accidentally set the boat on fire when on her own, then I'll make the visit and maybe settle down there myself."

 _Elventree._ "How far is that from us?" the girl asked, a mix of curiosity and hope.

"A good long way from here, a thousand miles to the east, roughly. The settlement's in the great forest of Cormanthor. From Iriaebor you could take many routes. A straightforward one's to go to Westgate, sail from the port to Sembia, then it's one road to get there. But I'd advise against that. Westgate's not a pretty place to be in even for a day, _even during the day_. Another is to pass through the Storm Horns, as dangerous as any mountains with monsters can be, but at least it's guarded by Cormyr, then through the High Moor and the Dalelands until you take to either Shadowdale to bypass most of the woods or Ashabenford after which you cut through the great forest itself 'til you reach Elventree by the Moonsea."

Hearing the routes described by Nells already made her legs ache by themselves. At least that wasn't a journey to be undertaken in the near future.

For now, there was only the river stretching on ahead of them.

* * *

"What's this I hear 'bout you livin' in that big old library and runnin' away?" the captain asked, uncrossing her arms and leaning over the railings.

Nells must have mentioned it to her. Irse slid the rag continuously across the wood and replied, "It's true, Captain. I left my foster father when -"

"So you got a foster dad. He beat you up, didn't he? That's why you ran away."

Rather than getting riled, Irse smiled to herself. Her foster father, though advanced in years, remained hale, straight-backed. Always they whispered in awe of how he was a former Harper agent who had gone on dangerous missions before retiring at the Keep. Yet Gorion was a serious and thoughtful man, longsuffering of her antics, gentle in his words. He would never hurt her.

"No, Gorion's been good to me but he wouldn't tell me a thing about my parents. I only want to find them."

"Gorion, huh? What about your folks? You at least have their names to go by?"

The rag stopped. "Only my mother's name." _Alianna_. But never from Gorion's lips, only from a dream that didn't feel like a dream. More like an _old memory_. Were she to close her eyes now she would see and hear it all again - darkness above and around, the glow of flames, Gorion screaming the name. It had been the look on his face when she asked that told her all she needed to know.

"What about your mother? Or _father_ , Captain? Does he also sail boats? What's his name?"

 _Thwack!_

With a meaty palm, Shar-Teel had smacked Irse at the back of the head and jabbed a finger at the girl's face.

"Hey! We're not on a _daddy's name basis_ here!" the woman snapped, eyes smoking with twice the usual murder in the mornings.

Irse rubbed the sore spot, amazed that her head hadn't flown clear off her neck and skipping on the water's surface like a thrown pebble. "But I just wanted to talk ab-,"

"I'm not paying you to yammer and flap your gabs on my boat!"

"But you _are_ not paying us..." the elf complained, eyes rolling to the side.

"And I'd say I got the short end of the sardin' stick too!" Shar-Teel stepped away from the railings and turned her back on the girl. " _Psh_! My advice is you forget about it, kid. Go do whatever you want; think yourself lucky you don't know who your folks are – especially your _old man_. You don't need them looking over your shoulder, telling you who you're supposed to be, and making your choices for you like it's not even your own damned life!" she said as she walked away, a hard edge to her voice.

Irse opened her mouth, about to say something, anything to defend her choice.

But then, it was wiser to keep her head sitting on her shoulders.

* * *

"You're not really going to make this easy for me, are you?"

The spot on the wooden floor of the cargo hold did not reply, smug in its entrenchment among the greaves of the planks. No matter how many times she rubbed the mop head upon it, the blemish - crusted remains of something _hopefully not from Dotie_ , simply refused to budge. Not for the first time did she wonder if she could instead beat it with the handle but this wasn't a rug. With a groan, she got down on both knees and whipped out a rag. Maybe a knife would be handy, in case it jumps at her.

Rolling the rag to make it sturdy enough, she proceeded to scrub at the spot, her grumbling and swearing outdoing the vigor with which she attacked it. From the edge of her vision, she saw Okami coming down the steps.

"There must be a gentler means, lest you eventually rub a hole into the hull and we find ourselves at the bottom of the Chionthar."

"If that's the only way to clean this whole floating castle of crud!" she ranted through gritted teeth.

" _Will you set fire to the entire garden merely to clear the fallen leaves?_ "

Seeing the affirmative grin on her face, he added, "Never mind. Do not answer. I was hoping you might have time but you seem preoccupied."

Irse got up on her feet and tossed the rag. "Just keeping myself busy, Teacher. But if you need me to do anything, I'm ready."

Okami looked around the interior of the hold. All of the crates, of which there weren't much, had been moved to one corner, creating a single wide space. He walked towards the center, student following suite.

"This is nothing like the practice halls of my home but we must make do with what the gods have given us."

The elf puffed her cheeks as she made a quick inspection of the place, and cast a defeated look at the uncleaned grub, still unscathed. Nice to know which god would have been responsible for putting them here. The blacksmith seemed to be thinking the same thing. He eyed the same spot on the floor with resignation.

"Preferable we do this barefoot as is customary, but I rather we survive this trip with our feet healthy and intact."

And so they started their lesson on footwork, an explanation on the importance of maintaining stability as with the beginning positions, then a simple matter of sliding one's feet to move in different directions when starting from the basic stance he had taught her. Except…

"Let your forefoot glide to the position, then follow with your back foot in the same manner."

"I'm letting! I'm letting!"

"No, you are _stomping_ , then sliding."

"Now, you are skipping."

"But it's so much more epic! I'll hop and chop and go _haiyaaa!_ "

"Again."

"Glide, like the raindrop on a blade of grass. No, that is a frog jumping from a lotus pad."

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

"And, again."

"Still, again."

"Again."

Even when she was merely at the verge of moving, she was told – _again_. Her Teacher maintained his cool, but somehow the unflappable calmness in his voice was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Why can't I just _not and say I did_? What difference would it make if I can't do it perfectly as long as I'm getting somewhere anyway?" Irse protested.

His brow furrowed, Okami raised a palm, a signal for her to cease her attempts. She scowled back, defiant. If he was going to say it is because it's the way it has always been, that she lacked the grace that should've been inherent to her race, if he was no different from those before him who relished the disappointment, then so help her!

"It matters… not because I aspire for you to be perfect," he said as he walked over to her, stopping only when he could stare into her eyes.

"It matters because I _want_ you to _live_!"

His eyes were hard and grave. She blinked, and his expression softened.

"Why is it imperative that you uphold your balance, to not interrupt yourself, be constant in moving between positions?"

She did not answer.

"So that you are at all times ready to strike – when you _need_ to, and not only when you _want_ to."

Irse turned her head to look away, controlling the frustration in her own voice as she responded, "I want to do this right, I truly do. I'll just try again." She heard him sigh and felt the air lighten between them as he stepped back.

"You will try again, good. As uttered by the man who once made me clean the entire practice hall, rafter to floor, as punishment and lesson for the same obstacle - _Desire points to the door, but it is the will which opens the way_. Now then, let us see what we can do about this."

With his foot, he flipped the rag over to her feet. "The ball of your right foot over the cloth. Now, push with your foot to gently slide it forward, do not lift until you stop."

When she executed the move and saw him nod in satisfaction, she fought the urge to leap and punch the air in triumph. _Keep your foot on the rag, dummy, don't ruin this_. "Oh! I forgot!" She quipped as she slid her left foot to its follow-through position.

"Use the rag to practice the other directions until you are confident of executing them on your own and on any surface. When you are ready, meet me on deck each night when I am on watch. Bring your bokken," Okami said as he ascended the stairs.

As soon as her Teacher disappeared from view, the elf stomped on the rag and smirked down at it. _We have work to do, you and I._

Forwards, sideways, backwards, forwards then pivot, feet interchanging but never leaving the rag untouched – Irse weaved through the empty space, the silence interrupted only by the occasional tap of the shoe, a weighted step, her breathing. And low laughter. Daggers and swords, imagined from the darkness, rushed at her and in her mind she dodged them all without a hitch, phantom sword in her empty hand cutting, slicing, winning. Did she swing correctly? Maybe yes, maybe no _._ As long as she was hitting anything – just like she needed to.

 _Enemies to the northwest charging at her! Does she wait or meet them in the battlefield?_ Right foot sliding to close with her left at the fore, then the left using the boost to propel her forwards, switching the blade between hands, a swinging arc from her right shoulder –

"By Marthammor Duin's mossy-mucked boots! What kinda' fool foppery be goin' on here!"

Battle skidded to a stop. Dotie stood by the steps, a bundle of rope in her arms.

"I'm cleaning the floors." Dwarven eyes narrowed in suspicion at her. "The elven way?"

"Hmph! As long as I be not mashin' my face on where yer tippy-toes be soilin'," Dotie maundered as she walked past the elf and stashed the rope among the crates.

"Say, Dotie."

"What!"

Irse tapped at the boxes. "We couldn't get passage in some of the ships because they were full of cargo. If it's summer and high season for trading, why are we sailing near empty with a barebones crew? Are we docking somewhere else to get the goods?"

Thick fingers reached up and grabbed at the front of her shirt. Dotie yanked at her with such force, Irse's knees buckled, almost falling to the floor had she not braced herself at the edge of the crate beside her. The dwarf thrust her face into the elf's, breath hot with rage.

"Ya listen here an' listen good. Ye best be stayin' yer nose outta' our business if ye want yerself an' him t' keep breathin'! Got it?"

The dwarven woman shoved at the girl; Irse staggered, back slamming against the crates behind her, barely managing to keep on her feet. More surprised than angry, the elf stared at the other who merely sneered.

Dotie warned with cruel relish, "What ya gonna' do? Whine t' that mongrel? Tell on me to the captain? Don't ye forget, girl – I know every nook an' cranny in this ship an' I can see in the dark just like ya."

Cold eyes glinted. "But _he_ can't."

 _That was it!_ Her fists clenched, the mix of chagrin and outrage roiling within. But what was there to do? _Charge at her? Who was this one to threaten her, her Teacher, when she had done nothing to her?_

Irse sized up the woman before her. Maybe in weight and hardiness she was outmatched, but she was taller, lighter and faster, had longer reach. If she could be as quick as she knew she could be…

 _What would that accomplish, Child?_

Gorion's voice trailed in her mind.

 _A remembered feel of his gnarled palm enclosing her curled fist, then small yet trembling with fury._

" _The kids at the village, they made Imoen cry just 'cause she has no parents like me. I don't want to see her cry. I'll make them pay, hurt them all-"_

" _But I ask you again, Child. What would that accomplish?"_

She had no answer then. She had none now.

"How 'bout ye run off to yer master like the trained wee bitch that ye are?" Dotie jeered.

With a deep breath the elf ignored the jibe, straightened herself and smoothed her tunic. Without another glance at the dwarf, she gathered her things, forcing her hands to remain steady, and climbed the stairs to the deck.


	8. Aground (Book 1)

Dearest Readers, may your sailing days through the realms be always of tranquil waters. :)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 8 : Aground**

* * *

For such a confined space, it seemed there were no end of things to do in a boat. If she wasn't scrubbing an unending pile of pots and bowls in the galley – _so many for so few people_ , wiping the railings, mopping the deck, helping her teacher with coiling the lines, leaning over the bow to watch out for any floating debris in their path, checking the water barrels if they were leaking… then she was checking them again.

At least, she was never ordered to inspect the bilges for leaks – the unsavory chore of crawling through the cramped space filled with filthy and slimy collected water was reserved for Dotie. Each time the dwarf went down there, Irse spent as less time as possible in the cargo hold, imagining the other woman making good with her threat by thrusting any of the kitchen's rusty knives and cleavers through the planks to get to her.

"I let you off last time; you ought to give me a warning in return," the elf solemnly reminded the un-scraped crud on the floor. She took its silence as a yes.

By a happy chance, the winds were favorable and working with the sails to nudge them along albeit leisurely. Somehow haste seemed to be the last thing on the captain's mind. Not once were they ordered to bring out the oars. One complaint from Dotie that her legs were cramping, and they would find themselves aground for an hour.

Likewise at night they put in to shore, commencing their journey well after the sun had risen. If Okami was impatient about the delays, he did not show – simply far more attentive to the tasks at hand during the day and to their lessons at night. Nells, on the other hand, was something else. For each stop, she appeared the one most relieved among them yet visibly fretting when Shar-Teel seemed inclined to keep them grounded for longer.

Only one time did Nells suggest they use the oars but Shar-Teel's sole response was to storm off the deck and into the quarters she shared with the first mate. What followed was an argument behind closed doors, only bits and pieces Irse had managed to grasp that afternoon as she passed by.

"I don't like this anymore than you do, but you know too well the consequences!" It was Nells, her voice raised to an uncharacteristic pitch.

"Oh ho! Coming from the _dear friend_ who threatened to walk away when I did all that I could to get us out of the hell hole!"

"And still I _didn't_. Because _I am_ your friend, and I care what happens to you!"

The door to the cabin flew open, hinges squealing in protest. Shar-Teel hadn't bothered to answer back, marching towards the deck and into the galley perhaps for a stiff drink, wrath blinding her to the elf straining to flatten herself against the wall.

"Patience, patience. It'll be over soon. The gods forgive us."

A prayer uttered thinking no one else was around to hear and the door closed once more.

* * *

Irse leaned over the railings by the bow, sounding line in her hands. Her Teacher stood beside her.

"Keep lowering the rope until the plummet dips into the water and touches the bottom. The plummet will not float as it is made of lead," Okami instructed. As she did, the line went deeper until the surface of the water reached the third mark on the rope. "It means that this part of the river is about three fathoms deep. Now you know how to measure the depth of the water."

She began pulling the line back to her, allowing the rest of the rope to remain slack upon the deck. Okami had warned her not to coil the rope in her arms lest the plummet get snagged into anything below and drag her down with it. _Another day's work at the boat._

As her Teacher walked away to check on something else, Nells approached the girl, the usual friendly smile on her face.

"How are you doing?"

"Learning much," Irse replied with an eager grin. "Though, can I ask you something? About this boat?"

For the briefest of moments, a hint of apprehension flashed in the half-elf's eyes.

"I mean, we've been sailing for a while now and… I don't even know what this boat is called. All ships have to have a name or it's bad luck, right?"

Relief seemed to wash over Nells as she laughed, "Goodness! I thought it was something serious!" The first mate moved closer to the bow and pointed at the side where the remains of faded paint could still be seen. The way the whole thing had been scratched out, the wood hacked and cracked in some places, suggested the use of something bladed with extreme vengeful prejudice.

"This vessel was lovingly christened by Captain Shar-Teel as _Men Are Pathetic Pigs and They Deserve to be Sarded Sideways in the Arse with a Barbed Mast, A Rusted Anchor, and a Giant Shark on a Harpoon Then Their Flaccid Pricks Hacked Off with a Dull Axe Rubbed with Peppers and Fed to the Same Shark._ "

Nells had said that with a straight face.

Irse also leaned over and nodded. "I think I can make out the Anchor and the Shark."

"You can imagine the other sailors and harbor hands not as pleased to have that staring them in the face each time we dock. Whether Shar-Teel had been counting on them to be illiterate… no, I think she was hoping they weren't and surprisingly she was right."

Both of them giggled, their laughter interrupted by a powerful squall that unexpectedly surged across the waters and ripped through the deck.

As her hair whipped about her face, Nells looked frantically around as if seeing with her eyes the wind's true direction. "The main boom! Make sure it's secured!"

The warning came too late as they heard a snap followed by a heavy groan. To their horror, the boom - a massive spar used to secure the bottom of the main sail, had broken free and swept violently across the deck.

"Everybody get down!" Nells shouted and had tried to grab at the girl. As it came upon them, the first mate ducked but lost her grip on the elf and Irse sloped herself backwards, narrowly avoiding the beam as it swung inches above her nose. However, she tilted too far and slipped completely over the railing.

The world turned upside down as she plummeted headfirst overboard. Right before hitting the water, her ankle was caught in a viselike grip. As she dangled helplessly, Irse tried to right herself enough to catch a glimpse of her savior.

Dotie was smiling down at her but in a manner far from friendly. _Don't let go_ , Irse wanted to plead but knew it might only goad the other to act otherwise. Vulnerable, she stared up at the dwarf, ready to close her eyes and prepare for the inevitable plunge when the first mate peered over and grabbed her other leg. Together, they hauled the girl up and into the deck. The wind had yet to stop and the boom continued to swing back and forth, the entire ship now rocking from the momentum.

"If we're dismast, we're done for!" Nells cried as she crouched protectively over the others.

A figure darted before them. _Okami_. Helpless, Irse looked on in fear for her Teacher, unable to do anything else but watch his attempt to gain control over the main boom. Yet with uncanny speed he solidly dodged the great beam each time it came at him, sliding across the floor multiple times to gather the loose lines, charging to meet the boom, hoisting the ropes, ducking again, dashing to follow the spar each time it changed direction.

When enough lines had been coiled and the boom nearing to where it was to be secured, Okami pulled down at the ropes, using his bodyweight to steady himself. Irse broke free from Nells' hold and ran to her Teacher. She grabbed the lines behind him and held them down as well. They were joined by the captain who had managed to stagger out of the galley. Soon the entire crew were at the ropes while Shar-Teel secured the lines. By that time the wind had died down and the ship had already stabilized. When the captain was done, everyone let go and collapsed on the floor, exhausted but relieved.

"An accidental gibe. Winds gone contrary and the stern caught in their eye. Good thing, Mister Okami was here to help," Nells exhaled along with the breath she had been holding.

Shar-Teel squatted next to the blacksmith and clapped him approvingly on the back, though with force enough to rattle bones and make one prefer her disapproval instead. "Looks like you're not completely useless after all! Gotta' admit myself, never seen anyone move that fast."

Okami bowed his head modestly. "I did what was needed. Nothing more."

But the captain wasn't done. " _Sure_ , just as fast as men runnin' out the door to dodge their obligation like the cowards they are. 'That why you jumped on the first boat to nowhere? Knocked up some girl in Kara-Tur and now the whole clan's after chopping off your head, _both_ _of 'em._ Heh."

The elf made a wry face. Did she always have to bring every conversation to _that?_

Okami got to his feet, unflustered by Shar-Teel's taunts as always.

"I can assure you, Captain. The reasons for my journey are far from the abdication of duty to a dishonored maiden."

Irse narrowed a skeptical eye at him. _Perhaps if her Teacher were to shave his face, comb his hair, didn't dress in such shabby clothes, and sounded less like an old geezer, then there would be no shortage of maidens throwing themselves at his feet for dishonoring._

"Are you hurt? You nearly fell overboard but I thank the gods that Dotie was there to catch you."

The elf looked up at her Teacher, now crouched in front of her.

"I'm fine. Thought I'd be making myself into a life-size sounding line back there," Irse joked, but the look of concern remained in his eyes. She grinned and mouthed - _not a scratch,_ as she pulled back her sleeves to show her arms and wriggled her fingers around her head. Satisfied, Okami nodded and stood on his feet, walking over to join the captain and first mate in their discussion.

Irse herself got up and approached Dotie. The dwarf was about to go down into the cargo hold.

"Hey."

Sullen as always, Dotie glared at her.

"Thanks, anyway."

"Yer awfully heavy for a damned grass-chomper. Yer gonna eat us outta' ship an' home before the next port," the dwarf grunted and turned away.

Irse smirked, stretched her arms over her head and looked at the horizon.

* * *

Not even Nells disputed the captain's order to put to shore. After a near disastrous accident with the boom, it was agreed upon that they stop and inspect the sails, rigging, the mast, and everything else for possible damages just to be sure. Sunset would not be long in coming and they might as well rest for the night.

With all things secured and supper boiling in a pot over a campfire, the crew settled down to wait out the remaining hours of the day. Whilst the others stared bored at the fire, Irse fidgeted in her seat upon a fallen log and hoped none of them had this crazy notion that elves were talented singers and dancers. Fortunately, or more unfortunately, the captain had other ideas about their entertainment.

Shar-Teel rose from her seat, hefting a sheathed sword and pointing it at Okami. "I see you got yourself a toy knife at your hip. Is that for decoration or are you waiting for someone to shove it up your tight little heinie?" she heckled.

Everyone else stiffened at the challenge. Nells gave a look that screamed – _not again_ , but coughed, "Captain, it seems you 've had a bit too much of the drink today. Perhaps you should retire for the -"

"I'm damned sober as a desert and bored as the nine hells frozen over!" the woman interrupted. "You, smith! As captain of this crew, I demand you amuse us by facing me in a duel!"

 _Is she serious about this?_ Irse stirred in her seat to voice a protest but Okami placed a hand on her shoulder.

"What are the stakes, Captain?"

Shar-Teel grinned at him, cocksure. "I win, you pay us triple the fare. Each of you."

"And if I prevail?"

"You and the girl sail for free."

Nells threw up her hands. _There goes their sure gold._

"But you'll keep working 'til we get to Iriaebor. I'm not carrying deadweight. Especially, deadweight with a _bottomless stomach_."

Noticing the captain glaring at her as the woman spoke, Irse leaned back and pretended to look elsewhere.

"I accept. Name your rules so long as the outcome is not fatal to the defeated."

"Don't you worry, sop. That fancy show you put up earlier convinced me to keep you intact for future use, well mostly. I say a good thrashing's allowed but the winner draws first blood."

"That is reasonable."

"Best out of three! You'll see I'm not so easily entertained."

Bewildered, the elf turned to Nells who only shook her head in resignation. It seemed the tension of the previous days between the captain and first mate had come to a head, and Shar-Teel would have been itching to let out steam. And blood for that matter.

A clearing right beside the campsite served for the makeshift arena. Okami bowed respectfully at his opponent who scoffed at the gesture. Shar-Teel drew her shortsword with her right hand and made to circle him but shifted and stepped sideways, apparently searching for an opening.

 _But he's entirely open_. Okami made no attempt to match her maneuvers, blade still sheathed and both hands at his sides, feet planted on the ground and slightly spread in a stance. Even his eyes looked straight ahead as if the other were keeping still. Casually his left hand moved to clutch at the scabbard, the only movement a slight jerk of the guard.

 _First blood_ , the captain had said. What if her idea of drawing first blood was a stab in the gut, a chopped-off hand, a slash across the face? Irse bit at her knuckle. The others watched as well, Nells with evident worry and Dotie with malicious interest.

A moment of stillness then Shar-Teel charged. A flash of steel and a cry of surprise. Okami had darted past the captain, ending up a good way behind her, his sword now raised in the air.

Irse blinked. She just knew she saw him unsheathe his blade, but not when he struck. _How did he move so inhumanly fast?_

"Nine bleedin' hells!" Shar-Teel had dropped her weapon, blood pouring from a deep gash on the back of her sword hand.

"Looks like noodle stick be drawin' first blood," the dwarf cackled and slapped her thigh. The mirth seemed lost on Nells who frowned instead at Dotie.

"Captain, you might wish to have that taken care of before we resume."

"Why? Teeny drop making you weak in the knees so soon?"

"You are at a disadvantage; the injury might affect your grip."

"Shar-Teel, listen to him! We need to bandage that!" Nells fretted but the captain waved her off.

"I can use either hand! Doesn't matter to me which one gets you first!" the woman snarled as she picked the weapon with her left. She twirled the sword, proving the deftness and skill that she had with the other.

Okami sheathed his sword, bowing once more before his opponent. He had barely finished when Shar-Teel charged at him again, her swings now more furious, quick to draw back and return. Yet the man calmly evaded each strike, sidestepping the attacks with ease. At one point the blade narrowly missed his cheek by a hair's breadth. Irse was sure her heart had stopped at that.

Shar-Teel drove her weapon forward, Okami dodged but it was a feint. Instead, the captain swiped her bleeding fist at him. He blocked the punch with his left forearm but it was another feint.

Irse screamed a voiceless warning as the blade flew at her Teacher who was still unarmed. And just as swiftly as he had been earlier, Okami pulled the sword from his sash, but still in its scabbard, to block the strike. Without breaking momentum, he moved to the side, Shar-Teel and her blade sliding in their forward velocity. The head of the katana hilt bashed into the captain's face.

Again, the blacksmith dashed clear from his opponent's range. Shar-Teel stumbled and cupped her mouth. She removed her hand, now red and slippery with blood this time from her nose.

"The duel is decided. It has been an honor, Captain." The blacksmith said as he tucked his sword into his sash.

"Bastard! I'm not done with you yet!" Shar-Teel raged and charged once more, weapon gripped with both bloodied hands and raised overhead. She brought it down upon his head but Okami caught the blade flat between his palms. The captain struggled and tugged at her sword to dislodge the blade but the blacksmith held them steady. Irse's eyes widened. _So that's how it's done_.

Nells sprang from her seat and grasped at her friend's forearm. "Captain, please. Stop this, now."

Shar-Teel slowly turned her eyes to the half-elf, teeth bared and breath heaving. Undaunted, Nells continued to cast a gentle look at the other woman as she slid her hand over to the captain's. After what seemed like an eternity, Shar-Teel loosened her grip, allowing the blacksmith to let go of the blade as well. Nells gently pulled her friend away while Irse rushed to her Teacher's side.

"Do not think yourself truly bested, Captain. Had this been a contest of strength and endurance, you would have been perfectly capable of overpowering me."

Shar-Teel wiped her bloody nose with her forearm. "Save your charity for someone else! You only got me with your funny eastern tricks. But you're right, had this been a wrestling match –"

"Dotie's eating up everything!" Irse interjected with supreme urgency and pointed accusingly at the dwarf. Everyone whirled to stare at Dotie bent over by the campfire and slurping the stew straight out of the pot. She merely sneered at them and licked the ladle all around before plunging it back into the stew.

"Disgusting dwarf! You think I'm _not_ gonna eat that?" Shar-Teel growled and tramped over to her. Nells laughed in a mixture of embarrassment and relief but mouthed a quick "thank you" at the pair before going after the captain.

Master and student remained standing apart, watching the crew argue over supper.

"Are you all right? Did she get you anywhere?" A tentative finger poked at her Teacher's arm.

He spread out his hands, inspecting them. "I am unscathed. Thank you for your concern."

"How did you? And _that_ fast?" she buzzed.

Okami closed his eyes and smiled. "Supper first. Lessons later."

Left to herself and watching as he walked away, Irse scratched the back of her neck and wondered how she could have forgotten about the most important thing in the world.


	9. River of Stars (Book 1)

A thousand apologies for a rather talkie chapter. A small quiet moment after the squall. Should pick up in the next. Pinkie promise! ^_^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 9 : River of Stars**

* * *

Practice swords clacked softly in the night air in consideration of the rest of the crew, now asleep. Master and student faced each other on the deck, the anchored boat bobbing on occasion with the river's gentle currents.

"That was awfully quick back there. I thought for sure you two would have to duke it out until the morning; the way she was hankering for it. Couldn't you at least made her think she had a chance?"

"To what end? It may be necessary to deceive a stronger opponent if it would mean your survival though not in this instance. Ill-tempered she may be, but the woman is no fool. To do so with the aim of toying needlessly with your foe is to disrespect them."

"Hmmm, so no matter if you're fighting someone better or worse than you, you still give it your best?"

"Be constant. Slacken not your hold on the sword, _not for anyone._ "

A strike, a block. A shift in stance.

"Just as well, if you hadn't ended it so soon, who knows we might have gone to bed hungry, no thanks to Dotie. But you should see the Watchers at home when they spar. Swords smashing on and on… and on against each other, nobody really hitting anybody, forever circling each other like a pair of puffed up peacocks. I'd yell - _When are you guys gonna stop staring into each other's eyes and start kissing!_ They'd give me the evil eye but I'd point at someone else. Gods, no wonder they call it _dancing._ "

Okami raised a brow at her. "Dancing?"

"Dancing. When they want to sound tough, they'll size you up, waggle their sword and say - " the elf replied, lowering her pitch in an imitation of a manly voice. " _Let's dance_."

"I suppose an interesting reference to sword fighting commonly used by Faerunians. But can _you_ dance? And by that I meant the art."

Irse shook her head. "Nah! To hear Ulraunt's favorite pet, Brother Nador, say it –" she said, frowning at the memory of the monk, the greatest of them all at kissing the Master of Tomes' posterior.

"He said I was born with two left hooves."

"And I was born a bamboo trunk that cannot even sway with the wind."

 _Ah, another thing he's not._ "If we both can't dance, it can't be a _dance;_ then what is it to you?"

Okami paused and arched the bokken over his head, his eyes tracing the air. "Not a dance. But a _flow_."

"A flow?"

"A flow. A cycle. A path. As all things may flow to their due course. The breeze to a full gale, a current to the tidal wave, a spark to the blazing flame. Even the earth, its blood a river of fire gushing beneath our feet until it surges from the crater and cools to become part of the hardened ground."

"And the sword - from its sheathe to the enemy!" Irse exclaimed with sudden insight, then blinked, surprised at her own words.

Her Teacher leveled a gaze at her, quiet and thoughtful. "Yes, you understand."

The elf nodded in return and raised her training sword once more. They resumed their practice drills, each swing and parry a measured movement, repeated and redone to help her retain. After what seemed like hours, Okami called for a stop so that he may proceed with the rest of his watch.

"Aren't we _forgetting_ _something_?" Irse ventured, bokken sawing idly on her shoulder.

The blacksmith rubbed his chin, eyes evading her. A casual shrug and he replied, "I am quite certain we have gone over all of the drills for tonight."

Impatient, she stomped a foot on the deck planks but the girl shushed herself right away at the louder-than-expected clump, looking around to see if any of the crewmates had been disturbed from their rest. No angry head popped out of any door and the elf exhaled in relief.

"I want to learn how you did that. How you pulled the sword so fast to hit."

"Ah. _That_." Okami smiled, almost teasing. "For your own welfare, it is not yet time for you to learn to hold a true sword."

"Aw! Please, Teacher!" she begged, eyes mooning, but the blacksmith merely held up a hand and made to walk away.

Standard badgering isn't going to work. Maybe a different tactic. She sighed then called after him as her eyes fell in pretend defeat, one foot slack and shuffling back and forth.

"You're right. You don't have to teach me now. After all, it _is dangerous_ for me to mess around with sharp and pointy things on my own when I don't even know what I'm doing. I'll forget about it. Never bring it up again. Nope. No, Sir. Will certainly not even think about it. Yep. _Trrrust me!_ "

Okami halted in his steps, pausing for a good moment before turning to her, eyes narrowed. "Perhaps a reconsideration is in order. I shall demonstrate to you how it is done. But only for tonight and after this you will wait until I deem you capable. Agreed?"

 _Well, well! Had only been counting on him letting his guard down, but a victory is a victory._ She clenched a triumphant fist behind her but refrained from showing too much joy.

"Agreed! But what made you change your mind?" The elf smirked. "And so suddenly?"

"Likewise for your own good, I realized it is more prudent to satisfy your curiosity in the meantime. Do you think it is hidden from me that you feign disinterest now, only _for you to steal the sword in my sleep so that you may attempt the technique on your own when I am unaware?_ " Okami answered back.

"Ohhh!" Irse pursed her lip, guilty eyes drooping to the side. "Why would you think I'd do something like that?"

"I remember not too long ago a cautionary tale about a capering fox cub and an unfortunate smith who was very nearly deprived of the chance to sire future descendants. "

"All right! All right! I'd probably…," she admitted, wagging an indignant finger. " _Just probably_ would do something like that. And _if_ I did, I would've practiced some place far from any window where people won't get hurt. And besides, I'll bring it back without a scratch."

"Of the sword I have no doubt of its durability. But what of your fingers?"

 _Yikes_. _Of course._ Irse gulped at the realization.

Okami approached her as he fished something out of a pouch in his sash. "Give me your left hand," he said.

She reached out her hand, and the blacksmith proceeded to wrap it with a thin strip of leather, layered a few times, enough to let her somewhat flex both wrist and fingers.

"What for?"

Okami replied, "A precaution." He held out his own, the lantern light on deck revealing a small yet deep scar on the back of the palm between thumb and index finger. She gaped at it and hoped that didn't hurt too much.

"First we learn _iaijutsu_ and _noto_ – respectively the art of drawing and sheathing the sword." With the katana at his left hip, cutting side up, he showed her how to push at the guard with the left thumb, adding a stern reminder not to put the thumb right on the edge of the blade lest she cut herself, then holding the scabbard with the left hand and drawing the sword fully from the sheathe with the right, ending at the beginning stance.

Unsheathing seemed simple enough, but returning the blade was another thing. Holding the mouth of the scabbard, he rested the dull edge right at the guard between the webbing of his left thumb and forefinger, and slid down the entire length until the point aligned with the opening.

Lifting the sword parallel to the ground, he twisted his left hip backward, giving him greater reach to allow him to guide the tip of the sword into the mouth. Rather than sliding in the sword directly, he lined both point and mouth and moved the sheathe over the blade deliberately, bringing the scabbard up to the metal fitting between the guard. A quick jerk of the thumb and the sword was locked into the scabbard.

Several repeated demonstrations after which the katana was turned over to her, Okami himself tucked it into her belt and secured with a silk cord through a knob on the scabbard.

 _It's her turn now_. Right hand quivering over the hilt, she jerked the guard out.

"Slowly, there is no need for haste. Acquire a feel for where the blade makes its path from sheathe to stance," he instructed.

The elf drew the blade, unhurried, observing how the cutting edge traced an arch facing the sky before abruptly righting itself upon being fully drawn.

At times with the first attempts to re-sheathe, the tip missed the mouth and poked at the webbing between her fingers, the prick felt but the skin protected by the leather wrapped around her hand. Silently the elf thanked her Teacher for having thought of everything beforehand.

Not too long, with each repeated motion, the confidence gained served to steady her hand. When he appeared satisfied at the demonstrations, her Teacher had her untie the string in the knob and took back his sword.

"Now that you know how to properly unsheathe and sheathe the blade, we will proceed with _battojutsu_ – the rapid draw of the sword to enable you to perform both the unsheathing and the cut in a single movement as I did in the duel."

"Warriors must be ready to fight at any time, to be first to strike even when your foe is the one to launch an attack. In my homeland, it is a shame to be caught unawares and cut down without having unsheathed your weapon. You cannot beg for your life; thus, you should not beg for time to draw your sword," he explained.

Once more, Okami demonstrated the technique several times, with slow deliberate motions at first to let her see. Posture stable, with the sword at the hip, he took hold of the scabbard but this time he also pulled back the sheathe with the left hand while simultaneously stepping with the forefoot and drawing the blade to end at a frontal strike.

"Due to the curvature of the sheathe, the blade meets no resistance as it is drawn while the backward pull of the scabbard is harnessed to propel the blade with greater quickness, as well as sufficient momentum and force to deflect an incoming strike, or to cut at the enemy," her Teacher described. He repeated a few more times unhurried, following with executions at the proper speed.

It was her turn once again. Clutching at the scabbard, Irse inhaled deeply.

 _Stillness_.

A click, a grinding slide of iron against wood. In a flicker of an eye, steel glinted in the lamplight.

"I didn't do that!" she blurted, wide-eyed.

Okami beamed, amused at her disbelief. "Perhaps another attempt might convince you otherwise."

And she did, countless times more, not always perfect, but enough to assure herself.

"I promised I won't try this again until you let me," she said. "But I'll forget how, by then."

"There is another means to continue your learning for when you cannot train as frequently as you wish. It is to practice in your mind what the body must do."

"Only in the mind? That's just daydreaming and imagining."

"More than that. Not a wandering of the mind, but a focus of thought with intent. Is it not true that the mind controls the body? For how else could the greatest among us exceed their limits if they had not set the intention in their thoughts long before the body stirs. Now, close your eyes."

Irse followed, breathing in deeply, expectantly.

"See yourself in your mind's eye, standing as you are now, sword at your hip. Recall each detail, the feel of the floor beneath your feet, the weight of the katana at your side."

"All right…?"

"Without moving a muscle, execute the motions in your mind. But not watching yourself from a distance, rather _as if_ you are performing them yourself. Imagine the pressure of your fingers on the sheathe, your palm around the hilt, the effort in your body. Envision completing the act perfectly, a thousand times."

Unconvinced yet trusting, she furrowed her brows and imagined herself sheathing, unsheathing, drawing to strike. Fuzzy at first, the picture in her mind, the imagined act too fast, too smooth, unreal. But she remembered what he said - _feel as if_.

Left fingers twitched as if touched by the smooth lacquered surface of the scabbard, right wrist tensing as if at the ready on the hilt. Drawing the blade and returning it, only in thought but truly feeling steel slightly sliding against the inner wall of the wooden sheathe.

Again and again in silence, she in concentration and he in patience.

" _Uh-oh_."

"What is it?" he asked, voice puzzled yet tinged with alarm.

"I was doing fine. But now the imagined sword just flew right out of my imagined hand and is now sticking up in the imagined butt of an imagined Master Ulraunt. "

" _This little fox,_ " Okami sighed.

The elf opened her eyes and snickered. "I'll make us some tea," she offered, untying the string of the scabbard and handing back the sword, resting upon both palms which the blacksmith received in same manner.

Opening the door to the galley, Irse cast one more glance at her Teacher tying the silk cord in his sheathe under the lamplight, and then she went inside.

* * *

"I thank you for the tea."

"I could make more if you like."

Sitting on a bench and leaning against a crate on the deck, her Teacher casually waved a hand. Across him, Irse sat upon the floor, practice sword laid at her side.

Though dawn wasn't far off, the buzz from the practice session kept drowsiness at bay. And besides, hanging around at their quarters at this time no longer seemed like the best idea. Only the thinnest of planks which didn't even closed up to the ceiling separated their section from that of the dwarf's. Sleep only came in the first night as a result of exhaustion from lying awake, unable to drown out Dotie's thunderous snores rumbling over the gap between ceiling and wall - if it could be called as such.

No wonder the crabby dwarf had her own place - it was not a privilege, but a mercy for the rest of the crew.

Irse poured for herself before lowering the kettle on the wooden floor. With a start she realized she had forgotten to bring a potholder. Ah well, a ring of soot wouldn't be so out of place on any surface of _this_ boat.

She sipped her drink and scrunched her nose. Forgot the milk and sugar again. She glanced at her Teacher drinking from his own cup – _how does he manage to take it all straight?_

 _Just one of the many mysteries of life._ The elf shrugged and looked down at her mug. As the moon's reflection wavered on the surface of the dark liquid, Dotie's warning echoed in her mind.

She really didn't care if the captain and her crew traded in illegal goods or skipped on their dues to the harbormasters. And she wasn't even too worried of Dotie's threat anymore - as long as she kept her head down and her Teacher knew nothing of it then it should be smooth sailing all the way to Iriaebor.

Shar-Teel may be a hard-nut, even dealing with some shady types but she didn't seem the kind to be mixing with the _extra wrong_ crowd; the caring and friendly Nells even less so. Yet for some reason, the incident at the cargo hold filled her with a sense of disquiet she couldn't shake off.

"What is the matter?" Okami inquired at her silence. He must have noticed the withdrawn expression on her face as she stared down in her tea.

"Nothing, Teacher." A shrug. "Just thinking… about things."

"Ah."

She hunched forward, fighting to dismiss the thoughts from her mind. _Forget the dwarf. Think about something else. Someone else._

Flanked by the woods on either side of the river, the elf strained her eyes if perhaps possible to use her sight to pierce through the darkness, imagining seeing just beyond the trees over there - Candlekeep and the flicker of its lighted windows. Perhaps a glimpse of her foster father at his desk, a pile of parchments and books before him and maybe, she dared to hope, the note she had left for him. What could he have thought then, what would he be thinking if he could see now just how far she was from everything and everyone she had ever known? Here in some rundown ship sailing to what could already be another world, trusting a stranger with her life when she could have trusted her father with her future.

 _Even worse._ What would he say when she comes back? When the road was still beneath her feet to turn back on, it was easy to daydream of that knock on the gates and at Gorion's door. So easy to think of it just the other day, but suddenly now...

"It is well to ruminate on what has been and we think ourselves wise to presume on what will be," the blacksmith said, a seeming acknowledgement of her worries even though she kept them to herself.

"But only in being here in the present are we truly alive," he added.

Irse scowled. "Well, that's rather obvious isn't it?"

"And yet it is something most of us fail to perceive. Dwelling on the past that cannot be changed, fretting on the future that is yet and may not even come. Too late, one realizes that today has slipped from their grasp, the chance to experience the _infinite_ , gone."

"The infinite? I don't understand. How can you experience the infinite in the present when this moment is happening only right now?"

"For it is not in the past that has gone, nor in the future yet to come can you do anything. But only in the now can you _act and be_ what an _infinite_ number of possibilities are yet to be chosen by you."

A sip of his tea, then he continued, "And more so because you can make the present last for as long as you hold on to it."

 _Hold on to the present?_ The elf furrowed her brows in deep thought. Perhaps her Teacher was right – nothing can be done with what has happened and who knew what tomorrow may bring. _Enjoy the moment while it lasts_ – this wasn't the first time she had heard of the saying.

Irse leaned back, finally allowing her gaze to wander among the stars in the firmament above them, holding their own light as Selune appeared no more than a pale sliver in the night sky.

As the mind cleared and eyes fixed only upon the stars, somehow her spirit began to ease - worries borne away by the cool night breeze.

Clouds, like gray mountains drifted across the moon, lingering to cloak the dimly lit crescent in totality. In that moment, the sky became a sudden veil of diamonds and fireflies, innumerable pinpricks of cold starlight; some as if mere lamps in the horizon, others deeply far, beckoning to the immeasurable expanse of the void.

Irse felt her own breath stand still as the immense starlit sky filled her sight. An unknowable ache pricked her heart. In one moment, she saw herself small and insignificant against the heavens above them, at the same time feeling as vast, as limitless as the horizon.

" _Lanterns in the sky,  
By day shadowed in the sun,  
Yet each night, eternal_."

Okami had suddenly recited the verses, his voice soft and low as if lost in a dream.

Irse turned to look at him. His eyes darted to her, then turned back to the stars.

"Please forgive the excess syllable when the final verse only requires five. I am a blacksmith, and no poet."

"It's all right," the elf chuckled. _What else could he not be, after all?_

They sat in comfortable silence, content to gaze at the night sky as the world glided along the gentle currents of the present.


	10. Meander (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, though your paths may meander sometimes, may the ways remain pleasant and give you joys unexpected. :)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 10 : Meander**

* * *

Draw. Strike. Sheathe. Rinse. Repeat. Just a few more. A few thousand times more in her mind.

But with the last, not the sound of iron and wood. _A rumbling stomach_.

Not steel flashing in the air, but a heaping plate of bacon, sausages, eggs, and bread rolls. _What?_

Irse scrambled out of the hammock, tangled briefly with the sheet before landing on the floor. Eyes still gritty with sleep, she rubbed her cheeks in an effort to waken herself fully. Faint light peeked under the doorway. _Is it breakfast time yet?_

It was still Mirtul but the rare gray skies and a drizzle greeted her outside. A brief internal debate whether to don a hooded cloak or not; decided then to wear one anyway to save the trouble of being lectured on by her Teacher about no one under heaven is immune to the cold and going back to their room to get hers. Biscuits and a swig of tea, and then the usual tasks.

It was all starting out again like any other day in the river.

* * *

As Nells pointed out, up ahead the Chionthar split into two distributaries - the western stream leading to the caravan city of Scornubel then through the Reaching Woods and an eventual northerly run to the Sunset Mountains. Instead they were taking the second stream which branched south down to Berdusk and Iriaebor.

At the first mate's instruction, Irse let down the sounding line. Two fathoms deep the mark had read, the fork deep enough to maneuver safely through despite the current season.

Puzzling. It didn't seem as if the river would ever run dry in the summer; why would Nells be so worried about the water level here?

As she coiled the line, her eyes caught an unmistakable glimmer of light along the left bank less than a mile away from them but still a few miles more before the river branched out. It flashed at evenly spaced intervals and the girl tapped the arm of the half-elf beside her.

Nells peered at the distance and sighed then turned to the captain, waving a hand. In response, Shar-Teel cussed and steered the boat to its port side. As she did, Irse went over to the helm, not so much to ask but simply to observe.

The captain suddenly grabbed the girl by the shoulder and roughly pulled the hood over her.

"Keep your head down and your mouth shut, you hear me?" Shar-Teel hissed with urgency.

Surprised yet in no mood to argue, the young elf nodded and gathered her cloak around her. Okami had climbed out of the cargo hold, perhaps becoming aware of the abrupt change in direction, and they exchanged curious glances. In silent obedience, the ship inched closer to the beacon and soon they touched by the bank.

A lone woman stood upon the shore, cloaked and hooded; lantern in her hand in spite of the daylight.

"Gangplank," Nells called out to the crew. Dotie and Okami worked together to let down both the anchor and ramp.

The woman climbed aboard, removed her cowl and cast aside the front of her cloak. Petite and of a shapely build, dark hair framing a beautiful face though a few lines had begun to appear, tanned skin indicating her origins from a country far south of the Coast.

Must be a – what was it, a _Calishite or a Calimite?_ Irse remembered the Avowed using the first term formally, and the Watchers using the second one with a smirk, to refer to the occasional visitors who hailed from Calimshan to see the great Library in the north. Either way, they obviously meant the same people.

"You're late. I was beginning to think you had forgotten your part of the agreement," the woman complained, voice playful yet unmistakably cutting.

Nells apologized, "Sorry, Safana. We did leave the Gate ahead of schedule. But the winds were… neither contrary nor too favorable, and there had been a small accident. I hope you won't think we had any intention of backing out of this."

But the first mate's explanations were ignored as if the half-elf didn't even exist. Safana gave no acknowledgement and instead sauntered over to Shar-Teel.

"Ah, Captain! So pleased to see you again. I trust that your vessel is outfitted to provide the utmost comfort that I require," she said as her slender manicured fingers drummed on the helm.

"Would that I'd rather chain you to the prow all the way, you black-hearted bitch. How's that for _comfort_ ," Shar-Teel sassed but Safana simply laughed it off.

" _Darling_ , one of the many things you can say to me, but can _never_ _do_ ," she teased.

"Such a dreary piece of driftwood, I'd much prefer a gilded galleon. But as they say, business shouldn't be mixed with pleasure," the woman exhaled with a melodramatic sigh, looking around with a haughty air as if owning both ship and crew. Her eyes brightened as they alighted on Okami.

Safana sidled up to the blacksmith and ran a hand up his arm. "My! Perhaps I spoke too soon. New crew? A comely man at last, an exotic too..."

Irse's ear twitched at the flattery. Despite the captain's orders to keep cowled and bowed, she raised her head slightly to cast a secret disapproving glare at the newcomer. But the movement caught the woman's attention.

"And what's this? A young man?" she queried excitedly as she drew up to Irse and without invitation, pulled at the cowl, revealing the pointed ears.

"An elven lad!" Safana was practically giddy with anticipation. "Shar-Teel, I didn't expect you'd make good use of _my gold_ to hire better company!"

Irse scrunched her shoulders and awkwardly held up a finger. "Actually… I'm a girl."

The woman's enthusiasm was replaced with disappointment.

"But it's all right. At least this time I look young and exactly like my age. _Not an old woman pretending otherwise_ , right?"

Safana's disappointment changed into undisguised contempt. Wondering if she had said something insulting, _for one never knew with other cultures_ , Irse glanced at the first mate and captain.

Nells was staring like someone had poked a sleeping dragon with a flaming battering ram in front of them while Shar-Teel was grinning as if said flaming battering ram had been shoved up the dragon's scaly behind.

With an affronted huff, Safana returned to the gangplank and whistled a shrill call towards the woods. On cue, the shrubbery parted and two men emerged, garbed in leather and armed. They were followed by a group of women with another pair of men who brought up the rear. Irse counted about fifteen girls in all. The eldest appeared little older than her, but there were a handful younger than Imoen.

As the women were herded into the ship, Okami motioned for Irse to stand behind him, his expression wary as he eyed Safana's escorts. These men were nothing like the sleazy types one imagined hanging around in taverns, but were every bit the hardened sellswords, grim and wasting no words as they led the girls down the cargo hold.

Th group most likely made the trek from Scornubel, the nearest settlement though still of considerable distance on foot. Visible distress and fear marked the older girls while the younger ones only seemed confused and sleepy. _Who were they? Shipwrecked merchants? Field laborers? Orphans? Why all women and under guard?_

The young elf looked up at her Teacher, but his grave eyes confirmed her worst guess.

Irse bit her lip as she felt her stomach churn.

But this time it was not with hunger.

* * *

Scrub. Scour. Rinse. Repeat. Defeat.

She had long accepted that no amount of rubbing and soaping would ever get this pot and the others to shine like the ones back at home, but as the great sages would have said it – _we were all put on this world to try_.

With more mouths to feed on board, the urgency of keeping the dishes clean, nay, spotless, had become pressing. And by mouths being fed in a civilized manner with dishes and cutlery, they meant Safana and her guards. Not the poor girls who had to be content with the near-stale bread in sacks, stored in the crates.

A shadow darkened the doorway to the galley.

"Such dedication to your work. Are the fair folk always so diligent and exacting even in the most menial of labors?"

The elf stiffened. _Safana_.

"I'm quite used to doing this, really."

A hand reached up and brushed aside a lock of hair from Irse's ear. The girl winced at the unexpected contact.

"So jumpy, like a newborn fawn. Never been _touched_ , obviously." Safana leaned closer and whispered, "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to bite."

The young elf laughed nervously then resumed at scouring the pot.

Remembering the awkward encounter earlier, the girl had a flash of inspiration. Might not be bad to try and let Safana know that she was knowledgeable about their nation. Well, at least, knowing the name of their country, their great port and the fact they have, _er_ , a huge desert somewhere there?

"So, ah, Lady Safana…"

She was answered with melodious laughter. "Darling girl, I may have been born to wealth and privilege, but I wouldn't call myself a noble lady in that sense. I am a self-made woman, my successes attained by my own hands, and wise in the ways of the world despite being… _quite_ _young_ in years. Only twenty-seven, you see."

Irse pursed her lips, fighting the urge to snigger. _Twenty-seven, sure._

"Yes, I can see that too, Miss Safana. Say, you're a _Calimite…_ from Calimshan, right?"

The air suddenly went still.

" _What_ … did you just _call_ _me_?" the woman snapped at her.

Irse stopped at her scrubbing. "Eh, a Calimite? Isn't that what you are? I mean, the color of your skin and hair, even your features and the shape of your face…"

But Safana didn't let the girl finish her explanation, and instead glowered at her before storming out of the galley in an angry huff.

The elf blinked several times and shrugged her shoulders.

' _Guess the right word is "Calishite", after all_.

* * *

"You called her a _what?"_ Shar-Teel blurted, fighting to maintain the perpetual frown. Even Dotie, flabbergasted, had shed her usual scowl. The three of them were at the galley, captain and crewmate coming in for a drink of water as Irse was putting away the dishes.

"A _Calimite_? You know, someone from Calimshan. I was just trying to be friendly but then she got mad," Irse replied, utterly puzzled.

The woman and the dwarf looked at each other and suddenly doubled over in laughter.

"I don't get it. Calishite… Calimite... They sound the same and Calimite sounds closer to Calimshan!" Irse argued.

"Kid, you slept on books and wiped your squeaky-clean arse on parchments in your big Library house, but you really know nothing about real people outside," Shar-Teel snerked.

The elf crossed her arms and frowned. It was Dotie who finally enlightened her.

"In their land, their prized warhorses be named _Calimites_. That's why Calishites think it an insult when ye use it on 'em," the dwarf said.

"In other words, ye just called our generously vain employer a soddin' _Horse-Face_ , genius!"

Irse's jaw dropped at the realization. But the captain clapped her on the back, unaffected by the offense at their sponsor.

"Were we in a tavern now, I'd buy you a drink. Damn, a whole keg too, just for _that_ ," Shar-Teel guffawed. After taking their fill of water, the two left Irse alone.

The elf scratched the back of her ear. Maybe she ought to apologize. It was fine with her to deliberately call someone names behind their back, like she did with some of the nosey monks at the Keep; but to unwittingly insult someone to their face when they were just trying to make conversation was another matter.

"Look, I'm going to do the right thing, all right?" the elf whispered at the ceiling in a preemptive declaration against an expected recall of her foster father's stern reminders about respecting people and other cultures.

She nodded to herself in approval and went outside to look for Safana.

* * *

She knew that the Calishite had taken residence in the Captain's quarters with Shar-Teel while Nells had moved out to bunk with Dotie. As Irse walked to the row of cabin doors, she wondered what they would be having for supper tonight, wondering too if she remembered seeing any of the men carrying what might be construed as additional provisions – meaning, something likely tastier than the crew's usual sad stew given their boss's penchant for finer things. Of course, that is, if Safana was still willing to share after what happened.

 _Oh boy, she really must get in the woman's good graces now._

Irse knocked twice, waited for an answer and went in. Only one hammock and a bed roll on the floor; shouldn't there be two? Is Safana making Shar-Teel sleep on the floor now? It took her a while to realize this was actually Dotie's room. The elf wrinkled her nose at her inattentiveness. She was about to head for the door when there was a slam and the tramping of boots from the other room – the captain's quarters on the other side. She looked up and saw that the partition likewise didn't reach up to the ceiling.

"I wish to make it clear we're not stopping at Berdusk. Not even for supplies. Too risky with the Harpers nesting there." _Safana_.

A gruff male voice replied, "Done."

"Check on the girls, see if they're all still breathing. One of them tried to kill herself last time, the poor fool. One less merchandise again and it'll cost me a piece of my cut. And I happen to need to make payments for a custom sapphire and platinum ring I'm having made at the jewelers."

The elf covered her mouth in shock at hearing the casual manner with which Safana had spoken.

"And on your way, call for the Kara-Turan. I want to ask him some… _questions in private_. Do not disturb us."

Irse pouted. _What_ _does that woman want with her Teacher now? Sword lessons too?_

As soon as she heard the other door closed, the elf ran her hands across the wall. _There!_ Tiptoeing a bit, she aligned an eye with the found hole.

Alone, Safana pulled out a worn palm-sized journal from her belt pouch. Scanning the pages, her mouth moving wordlessly, occasionally counting with her fingers, nodding with satisfaction.

 _A list of the girls and their buyers? Their price in gold scribbled next to their names?_

Footsteps approached and there was a knock on the door. The woman hurriedly stuffed the journal into her pouch, tousled her hair about her shoulders, forcibly yanked the upper laces of her corset and the top buttons of her blouse. _Maybe to give him a better view._

Irse pulled her face away from the wall, snorted quietly and rolled her eyes, then peered in again.

"Come in," Safana purred.

Okami stepped in and the guard outside closed the door for him. As instructed, Safana's escort complied with her desire for privacy as the sound of his footsteps became more muffled and distant.

"My presence was requested," Okami said.

"No need to be formal with me. Since we'll be traveling together for a while, I thought it productive to get to learn more about the latest addition to _my_ crew."

"If you must know, I am a blacksmith journeying with my apprentice," her Teacher replied matter-of-factly.

"An elven girl instead of some peasant boy? An unusual choice but I'm intrigued. What would you be teaching her? Perhaps, you could… share the _lessons_ with me as well? You'll find I'm a _very_ eager student."

The elf cringed. Too bad they weren't in a smithy with a hammer within reach.

Safana edged up to the blacksmith; both hands rising, one to touch his neck and the other to lay flat at his chest. She pulled herself closer, smiling up at him as her hand moved from his chest down to the hilt of the katana at his side.

"Hmmm, I've never _handled a blade_ like _this_ before," she cooed as she commenced with caressing the hilt in deliberate, languid strokes. Still quiet and his face impassive, Okami's eyes remained fixed on her.

"Why don't you show me how hard and sharp it can be," Safana teased. With an inviting smile, she seized the hilt and tried to pull at it.

 _Hey!_ Irse inwardly screamed. _That's not how!_

 _First, you jerk off the guard with your thumb, then you pull!_

As expected, the blade didn't budge, and the Calishite made a second attempt with more force but failed once more. Okami remained unmoving, merely looking at her.

"Well, then. I guess _your sword_ needs… a little more _coaxing_ ," Safana conceded, losing her composure somewhat.

"But must we play around? These sailing hags do not see the man in their midst, but _I do_. Come, there is none to disturb us, I am _yours_ for the taking," the woman urged, her hand still resting on his neck while the other now moved from the sword and slid over the top of his trousers.

Suddenly, Okami firmly gripped both of her wrists. Safana gasped, surprised. The blacksmith removed her hands from him and let go. Shocked, she stepped back and glared angrily at the man who dared to refuse her advances.

"If there is nothing else, I shall return to my duties." A curt nod of his head and he shifted one foot to turn away.

"That _elf_ ," Safana spat. "Do you know how much they'll pay for her kind? Especially one this _young_ and..." She smiled with malice. "... Unspoiled?"

Okami paused. He leveled his eyes at Safana, left hand coming up to rest on the scabbard.

"Let this be the _only_ and final warning you shall receive from me," he began, voice calm and low yet taking on a hard edge, grip tightening on the scabbard.

"Touch one hair on _her_ head and this boat will sail, not on water, _but in blood._ "

And with that, the blacksmith left the room.

Safana slammed a fist against the wall, grabbed at her hair and shrieked. Heaving, the woman finally calmed down and sat on one of the hammocks, muttering angrily in her native tongue as she laced up her corset.

Irse backed away from the wall, hand clasped over her mouth.

Likewise, the elf took a few deep breaths before quietly opening the door. Seeing nobody else around, she crept outside and with hurried steps, made her way to the deck.

* * *

She found him instead at the stern, alone and staring at the horizon.

"Teacher," she called to him.

Okami turned to look at her, smiling. The elf noted that his eyes expressed otherwise.

"Are you done with your tasks for today?"

Irse nodded. The blacksmith resumed gazing ahead of him.

"I must apologize…"

She held her breath.

"We may have to forgo our nightly lessons in the meantime. There is no space for them now, and I must exercise further diligence during the watch."

"I can join you. I don't need much sleep anyway."

"Good. I shall welcome that. Bring a blanket to make yourself comfortable when you do."

"Sure."

"And, Irse…?"

Her head perked up, expectant.

"May I… ask you to stay close to me? Until the end of this journey?"

The elf bit her lip. As much as she wanted to reassure him that she would be fine, would always be careful, for him not to worry too much…

"I will," she said, her response free of any question.

"And hey, I won't let _you_ out of my sight. _I promise!_ " she added brightly with the right palm raised, then blushed. "Except of course, when you're… uh, doing _personal stuff_ , Teacher," she followed with a scratch at the back of her neck and an embarrassed cough.

Okami chuckled and said nothing more. Irse beamed, relieved to see him relax even just a bit.

They stood there for a while longer, observing the currents trailing behind the boat.

* * *

They both made their way to the deck. As the pair inspected the ropes securing the sails, Irse saw Safana step up at the helm. The Calishite exchanged a few hushed words with the captain before casting a glance at their direction.

She met the woman's gaze and the elf flinched at what she saw in Safana's eyes.

 _Pure hatred._

Irse knew then that she had made an enemy.


	11. Headwaters (Book 1)

Dearest Readers, may your own headwaters flow clear, unimpeded, and always true to your spirit.

* * *

"For all beings should walk free of fear, with the right to live their lives as they wish."  
\- The Harper Code

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 11: Headwaters**

* * *

Starting the evening of that same day the girls had come aboard, Irse was tasked to distribute food to them. Okami accompanied her to the cargo hold, reasoning that some tools might have been misplaced among the crates.

Not much heed was paid to them by the two guards, secure that the young elf and the lean Kozakuran wouldn't do anything stupid. That, or her Teacher's warning had been passed to them. Either way, Irse tried to put it out of her mind and concentrate on the job at hand.

Loaves of near-stale bread were dispensed, broken in halves, sometimes in quarters for the little ones, to make them last for the rest of the voyage. Not a single thanks was uttered when given their rations; instead, she was met with a myriad of misery reflected in their eyes – sunken, dejected, terrified, defeated. If their lips moved at all, it was only in murmured prayer, muffled sobs, or to shush the homesick cries of the younger ones.

When she had reached the edge of the room and kneeled to hand out a piece of bread, one of the older girls grabbed at her wrist.

"You're an elf," she whispered.

Irse could only nod, fearing the guards might see.

Fingers tightened against her skin. On the girl's wrist were newly-inflicted cuts, healing poorly.

"My brother, he used to tell stories – that your people are good with sword and magic. Maybe that's why. So you could protect yourselves from monsters and _them._ " The girl let go and leaned against the wall, hands falling limp at her lap.

"I wish he was still here. I wish I still have him… _anyone_ … to protect me too."

At a loss for words, she gently pressed the bread down on the girl's open palm and walked away.

* * *

"Irse…"

He called after her, clearly noticing the sudden haste with which she had dumped the empty sack in a crate and had rushed up the stairs to the deck and then to the stern.

Heart pounding and outrage welling up, the elf grasped at the railings. If only it were easy to numb oneself or if one's conscience could be hurled, from stomach to throat, over the edge to be carried away with the currents behind them.

Her Teacher stepped in beside her.

Irse turned to him and whispered fiercely, "This is wrong, isn't it? Maybe they won't get caught but we got to do something! We can't let this happen."

Okami canted his head towards their quarters and walked away without another word. She followed until they were both inside and he shut the door behind him.

"You wish to do something about this?"

"My father would've."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "And how would stopping them achieve anything?"

"What do you mean? "

"You cut off an arm, but like the worms of the deep, it sprouts another and another. You take down Safana and her men, but someone perhaps even more cruel, will rise and fill the void. Evil cannot be eradicated in this world, Irse. It will always be there. Not a matter of balance, simply that it is in the nature of mortals and immortals. Even so, while slavery is forbidden in the cities of the Coast, it is practiced and even governed by law in the nation states in the south and the east. Now what can one such as you do about it? Why must you even concern yourself?"

She stared at him, stunned, unbelieving. _How could he say such things? Did he really believe that?_

But the girl took a deep breath, eyed him, not as a sudden stranger to her, but as a new puzzle.

"I guess you're right," she accepted. "Grownups around me always complain of how there's just so many of these horrible people no matter what those in position try to do about them. I've heard from talk at the caravan of what really happens to slaves – I couldn't believe it myself. Those girls. Maybe no one cares about them that's why they ended up here."

 _In a flash, a recollection of seeing her foster father conversing with a visiting nobleman from the southern states whose pompous name she never found out and never cared for._

 _A meddlesome band of vigilantes disguising themselves as self-righteous do-gooders, interfering with kingdoms and sowing discord, that man had said of the Harpers._

 _Through the nobleman's rants, Gorion had stood, unspeaking. Not once did he counter the other's words. But when the man had said that there was no purpose in their_ _work in drawing the ire of powerful and less-than benevolent forces merely for the sake of some wretched slaves and undeserving people when commerce and wealth are better off flourishing under the guise of peace, Gorion stepped forward._

 _One foot forward, and the noble had backed down, suddenly small and spooked before a man, aged yet towering above him in both height and principle._

" _My Lord, you are correct. It is undeniable that a disruption of the status quo has its own inconvenience."_

" _But greater than the mandate of kings and the wealth of the realms are freedom and dignity as is the right of all beings – all and none are exempt from that privilege._ _"_

 _And then Gorion had fixed him with a gaze, hard as flint, unyielding as rock._

" _Except when you deny it from others, whether by word or deed. And that is how you earn the enmity of the Harpers."_

" _For_ _all beings should walk free of fear, with the right to live their lives as they wish."_

Irse breathed in deeply, slowly.

"But they… they have family and lives. Much like me. If I was in their place, I'd want someone to help me. My father would've wanted someone to help me. Maybe you're right – in this world we'll never be rid of bad folks. But who cares if there's always more of them than us, or what the lords or the law says is allowed or not. You do what's right because…"

She straightened herself, remembering once more the words of Gorion, and looked him the eye. "Whether big or small in our world – we have the right to live, be safe and free. And it should be the same for them and for all."

Okami smiled and uncrossed his arms, satisfied at her response.

"Good. I see your resolve runs deeper than obedience to the dictates of law; that you will be swayed neither by the odds nor fear from doing what is right. Then I am assured of an ally in this endeavor."

Irse exhaled in relief and rubbed her hands in excitement. "So you got a plan, Teacher?"

"A modest scheme that I have not yet perfected. But now with your aid, it might be."

* * *

"Not that I want to pry, but why are you letting it down?" Nells quizzed her.

The elf froze, sounding line dangling inches above the water.

As with the pranks she used to pull at the Keep, it was easy to fib when the crime was already done. Not so easy though when the crime was still in progress and botching it could put their necks in fatally boiling water.

"Ahhh…"

"I have sailed this way before, and if memory serves, there are unseen shoals before we come upon Berdusk. Shallows that may already be in our midst even now. I prefer to put my mind at rest," Okami replied, rising from his seat.

"You're right about that. But here at the side instead of at the bow before we pass over what's ahead of us?"

"I prefer to keep her out of Safana's sight. The child is not in good graces with her at the moment on account of a slight misunderstanding."

Her back turned to them and lowering the lead to dip below the water, Irse scowled.

" _Child" her pointy-eared bum! She's already almost nearing a bump close to sixteen. And "good graces" her knickers! That's because Safana couldn't take an honest mistake and a "no" for an answer. If only the meteorites and her bokken weren't too precious to stuff down that evil harpy's hungry…_

"Oh, yes. _That_ little mix-up," Nells agreed and followed with her usual nervous laugh.

 _Now, while she isn't looking!_

"The lead! It's caught on something!" the girl exclaimed in alarm and yanked at the line a few times.

Then let go. More like, tossed it.

She heard panicked footsteps from behind, and Nells leaned over the railings. For a moment, she expected the woman to jump after it.

"That was our only sounding line! We've had it for years, and I'm always careful not to lose it," the first mate lamented.

Irse curled her fingers close to her chest, true guilt felt at the loss. "Sorry! I didn't mean to. We'll get a new one at the next port, won't we? Maybe, Teacher could… pay for it?"

The half-elf dismissed the offer with a wave of the hand. "It's all right. Except…" Nells frowned. "Mister Okami's correct about the shallows. The river starts becoming treacherous the nearer we approach Berdusk, and even close to its port are rapids that could destroy barges if in the hands of unskilled pilots. For now without something to test for depth, we run the risk of running aground if we veer from course even slightly. But, Shar-Teel knows what she's doing, we've been through this river many times before."

 _Thwap!_

Irse yelped and grabbed at the top of her head where Okami had smacked her with a rolled-up map, _with convincing force._ Even Nells was startled.

"And now I must pay for damages from your neglect when each coin must be expended with care. Let this be a lesson to you. Exercise the greatest caution when handling another's possessions. _Be mindful of other people's property_ ," he scolded.

Irse resisted the urge to remind him that they were _already sailing for free_.

"Yes, Teacher," the elf said, rubbing at the sore spot. _Bet he used both hands for that_.

The first mate looked uncomfortable. "Oh, dear! Shouldn't have made such a fuss! It's just a silly little thing, you know. Completely forgot we're getting paid for this trip. Please don't think about it. Tomorrow we should sail past Berdusk then a couple days more 'til Iriaebor where I'll get a new one."

As Nells walked away, master and student traded knowing glances.

"Did you _really_ have to?" Irse griped.

Okami shrugged his shoulders, lips quirked.

"Please forgive the excessive force. I am a blacksmith, not a thespian."

* * *

Behind a paneled section of the hold, Dotie opened the hatch to the bilge and eyed them with her usual distrust.

"Tell me again why yer goin' down this stinkin' hole?"

"You may be the boatswain on this ship, but my duties are specific to repairs. I would inspect the bilge myself for leaks and weaknesses and arrest the problem before it grows," Okami explained.

"And I be the one doin' all the checks here below. Yer sayin' I've done it wrong the whole time?"

"It is wisdom to send two scouts. What the first pair of eyes may miss, the second may find. Not for lack of diligence, but for the difference in what each of them seeks."

"Whatever! It's yer trouble this time, not mine. Gimme the keys again when yer done." Dotie tossed the ring over to Okami and left, a little too eagerly.

"Let me do it. I'm smaller and I see better with little light," Irse volunteered.

"And what manner of man would I be to allow you to perform a perilous task in my stead?"

"Oh," she stammered. "But you - "

"Especially with _your_ _skill_ _or lack thereof_ with the hammer, you are likely to puncture a hole larger-than-planned and send us all to the bottom sooner than we anticipated. You would sink the entire ship to drown the rats."

All thoughts of worry for him had fizzled at hearing his jibe. _Maybe he'd like it if she locked the hatch and let him steep down there for a good while like a moldy teabag!_

Lantern in hand, a small hammer and chisel hanging at his belt, the blacksmith lowered himself into the hatch which merely came up a little past his waist – a less than comforting indication of the limited crawl space in the bilge.

"Close it after me."

"What if something goes wrong?"

"It should not take long and none must hear of my work."

She pushed down at the trapdoor and sat on the floor to wait. Fiddling the keys between her fingers, she thought back on their little plan.

 _Scuttling the ship_. In other words, deliberately punch holes in the hull of the bilge; Not to sink the vessel but to take on water, enough to slow them down and force a stop at Berdusk.

 _But the crew and the safety of the girls_. They were also why Okami wouldn't risk outright confrontation, aside from the two of them already outnumbered in a confined space. While it seemed that Nells was being forced into this, her loyalty might still be with her captain. Hopefully, that wouldn't be the case if things do go south.

Clutching at the keys, she closed her eyes and recalled what they would have to do upon docking at Berdusk. Okami will stay at the ship and stall them, probably pretend to fix things. In turn she would sneak out and alert the city guards; maybe run into some Harpers there. How would she know if someone's a Harper, though?

Would they have " _I'm A Harper_ " or " _I Harp_ " tattooed on their foreheads?

It didn't take much to figure out that Okami was sending his apprentice to seek help, mainly to put her out of harm's way. Her brows furrowed with determination. She would have to be quick about it then – get back before they suspect anything and turn on him instead.

Jump ship quietly. Get help. Arrive with the cavalry. Have Safana and her men arrested. Free the slaves. _Job well done, easy-peasy._

Did her foster father ever go on missions against slavers? If ever he did in his youth, it should have been a walk in the garden for him – he's got magic and other Harpers at his side. Maybe all he had to do was blast his way through doors and his warrior friends would do the slicing and stabbing for him.

But what could a blacksmith and a runaway do? Not much, she guessed, but hopefully just enough.

After what felt like hours, there was a knock from other side of the hatch and she scrambled to lift it up. Okami emerged from the trapdoor, face smudged and clothes drenched, reeking of foul water. Irse wrinkled her nose as she took the lantern and tools from him.

"Though I prefer the springs and baths of my homeland, for now a bucket of clean water would be heaven-sent," he said with distaste, wringing the hem of his short robe.

The elf smirked as she wiped the tools with a rag.

It would take more than a bucket of water to clean all of that.

* * *

From behind the screen came the sounds of splashing, vigorous scrubbing, and a whiff of soap.

Out in the open air and at a corner of the stern, they had set up a small wooden tub, a barrel of water, and a dressing panel – all requested through Nells and borrowed from Shar-Teel, everything carefully timed at when Safana had retreated to the captain's quarters for an unmissable beauty nap. Since putting to shore was out of the question, Okami would have to make do with the makeshift bathhouse on board.

Her Teacher insisted on being left alone, that the screen _and a guard_ were unnecessary but his apprentice had insisted otherwise.

And so Irse sat at a stool, a dressing panel between them as he bathed. What would he say if he spied the wooden sword concealed under her cloak – which she also insisted donning despite the afternoon heat?

 _Well, there's no telling what could be lurking around and looking for trouble_. _Nobody said that witches only come out at night. Best to be ready._

"Don't you think it's weird the captain would have something like _this_ in the ship?" She tapped at the screen. It wobbled briefly and the elf panicked, expecting the whole thing to come crashing down on her Teacher. Fortunately, there were no great waves in the river and both ship and panel remained stable, much to her relief.

"Do not be so hasty in your judgment. Captains of trading vessels might also find the need to make themselves presentable," Okami answered back.

"Yeah, but… _Shar-Teel?_ "

The screen was of thin yet sturdy cherry wood, corners gilded with gold leaf though mostly cracked, the lacquered surface painted with idyllic scenes of forests and gardens, perhaps bright and colorful once but now dull and faded. Something quite _not_ _Shar-Teel._ _Perhaps something from home or reminded her of it_.

Ears pricked at the approaching tramping of leather boots on wood. One of the guards emerged from the port side, threw a casual glance at her, then went over to the railings, stepped on a low box, and proceeded to undo his trousers.

Irse cleared her throat and stared icily at him. The man glared back.

" _Do you mind?_ " he snapped at her.

"Well, excuse me! You got a choice of port or starboard, even at the bow if you want the captain to see. Go do your business in any of them, just not _here_!"

Mumbling to himself, the guard re-clasped his belt buckle and stepped down from the box.

"And whoever of your friends are peeing in the bilge… tell them that's not what it's for!"

"Friggin' knife-ears!" he groused while walking away.

"Idiots," she muttered back.

Soon the sloshing stopped and she heard Okami step out of the tub. Irse gathered his clean clothes, a towel, and bandages, all folded.

Looking at the roll of white cotton cloth, the elf wondered why her Teacher wrapped them around his abdomen most of the time. Certainly he wasn't nursing a festering wound. Or maybe he had an ugly scar. Either way, it seemed rude to ask if it was something he wasn't showing out in the open.

Irse handed them over by the side of the screen, eyes averted just in case. He thanked her and took them from her hands. After a while, he stepped out from behind the panel, fully dressed but hair still dripping wet; oblivious to the dark strands which clung to his face and neck.

The elf snickered at the rare sight.

"The towel was already soaked to its capacity."

"Maybe shake yourself all over? Works for a dog," she suggested with a smirk.

Okami ran his hands through his damp locks. "And for a _wolf_?"

Irse paused. "I dunno. Never even seen one up close myself."

"Hmm," he mused for a while, then without warning, he shook and swung his head wildly, hands wagging his hair, seemingly taking great care to send most of the droplets at her direction.

"Hey! Watch it!" she cried and swatted at the spray with her hands. As she wiped her face and arms, her Teacher proceeded to fold the screen.

"If you are done idling," he chided her. The elf snorted and grabbed a mop and bucket, swabbing at the floor as the blacksmith emptied the tub over the side.

Wordlessly they nodded at each other.

It was done. Now they wait for river and water to do their part.


	12. Sand in Water (Book 1)

Dearest Readers, may your plans in all of your adventures come to sweet fruition. :)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 12: Sand in Water**

* * *

First to greet her in the waking world were hornworts, floating scrubby river greens, clinging to her face, suffocating her. Suspended between the surface and the riverbed, limbs weightless, frantic hands scrambled for anything to anchor her.

Realization screamed – _the plan, it worked too well!_ Overnight as they slept, the water must have surged from the forcibly ruptured hull and into the hold, pulling them to the bottom much faster than they expected.

In the murky darkness, her mind sought to where Okami and the crew might be in the midst of this, if they were hurt, awake, had at least swum away from the wreckage... _The girls!_ They were housed in the hold; had they been let loose to save themselves? If only she could right herself, pull free and break through the surface…

And then she hit the cold hard wooden planks of the cabin floor.

 _Dry_. The floor was dry! Well, sort of.

One foot still raised and tangled at the hammock, Irse laughed in sweet relief. She would have gladly kissed the somewhat clammy wood but she knew just how disgusting that would be and resigned to patting the floor with familiar affection.

Chalk it up to feeling a bit too nervous about the plan. Well, she shouldn't be. Everything will be all right.

 _Nerves of steel, nerves of steel_ , she chanted to herself.

And then her stomach of iron reminded her of breakfast.

* * *

" _Boo_!"

Irse twitched in surprise, nearly dropping the rag in her hand.

"Sleepin' with yer eyes open again," Dotie heckled, turning her back on the elf to pick up the slack lines on the deck.

The girl stuck her tongue out in response and went back to polishing the railings at the bow. Not daydreaming, only antsy about the plan. Again she tried to reassure herself that no one would ever suspect Okami of puncturing the hull – it was his profession to _fix and make things_ , not break them. Sort of like a blacksmith's code. The elf stared into space and wondered for a moment if blacksmiths _do_ have oaths and codes, like paladins and priests.

"Irse."

"Yes, Teacher?" she turned around and walked over to him.

Okami handed her a small bundle, wrapped in a clean kerchief. Curious, the girl took it from his hands and unwrapped the parcel.

 _Biscuits!_ Irse smiled with pleased surprise and immediately stuffed an entire one in her mouth, cheeks puffed with effort to chew the whole piece inside. She mumbled her thanks, readying the next one as soon as she could swallow the first.

"You seemed hungry," Okami reasoned as he observed her. The elf beamed like a delighted child, crumbs on the chin and lips.

"Hmmm. This reminds me of an old trick our commander would often use before battle to calm the nerves of new recruits. A simple act unrelated to the situation at hand, such as chewing, serves to distract the mind from worries. Though of course, it was unbecoming to be eating while in formation, but he preferred wholeness of mind and spirit over the fragile mask of decorum," he recounted nonchalantly, turning his attention to the rigging.

Irse slowed her munching, nodding and understanding what he really meant to do. Help her deal with the jitters lest the others suspect them of anything. A good thing too, because she was _indeed_ still hungry.

"Do not consume all of it at once. Lay aside a portion for later," he reminded her, a wry expression on his face.

 _Right_. The girl grinned sheepishly but devoured one more piece, enfolded the rest and stuffed them in her pocket. Well, he was right about eating while in the middle of something, though. Seeing him calm about the whole thing was reassuring as well.

After all, they were doing the right thing. The gods should bless that and at the very least, _not help_ the bad folks in this.

What's the worse that could happen? Stub her toe while sneaking out? Be given away by a rumbling stomach? _Again_.

Well, she has the biscuits for that now. Irse patted at her pocket with renewed sureness.

The rest of the morning sailed on without event.

* * *

"Of all people, _you_ should be most concerned why Berdusk isn't behind us yet," Safana complained, standing next to the captain at the helm, impatience wrinkling her otherwise near-smooth brow.

"We're a mite heavier now the ship's taken on more weight - _in people_ , if you took time off from preening like a bedecked turkey to notice at all," Shar-Teel retorted.

The captain leaned over the wheel as if to yell a command at the crew working in front of her. "And maybe if someone hadn't lost the sounding line back there, we'd be cruising without knotting our knickers that we'd run ourselves aground in the shallows 'round here!"

At the bow and hearing the captain's words, Irse guiltily scrunched her shoulders and wiped the banister with more contrived diligence.

"You should know the river by heart, with or without whatever it was you lost. Negligence and delays aren't good for my business and _yours_ ," Safana said bitingly.

The elf refrained from glancing at her Teacher who was busy with the rigging. Not far from her, Dotie was coiling a line. _Act casual, don't wipe too fast or too slow, pretend it's all normal_.

Shar-Teel merely snorted, one hand on the wheel. "Maybe the winds don't give a whippin' sard about your business. Why don't you jump off and push the boat yourself if you're in such a hurry! Go do something useful other than dandling on every pus-crusted prick that wags itself in your face."

Normally the Calishite would brush off the insult, even relish the Captain's ire while reminding Shar-Teel that _talking back_ was the only thing she could do to her employer; but this time Safana seemed in no mood to trade barbs.

As both women stewed in livid silence, one of the guards rushed up from the cargo hold and reported to them in a low voice. Irse caught a few words – _water coming through the planks._ The look of surprise and disbelief on their faces were proof enough.

"How the nine hells did that happen?" Shar-Teel demanded.

The first mate had arrived from the galley and had heard part of their talk. "I'll look into it myself, Captain," she offered. Shar-Teel grunted in assent, seeing she was needed more to pilot the ship. Nells called for Okami to come along and strode ahead towards the stairs, tailed by Safana and her guard.

The girl watched them disappear down into the cargo hold, worried eyes on her Teacher as he quietly followed them without a backward glance.

"Looks like yer Master missed a spot."

Irse heard the dwarf sneer at her, but the elf was too uneasy to talk back.

Minutes waved by until half an hour had passed and they were still down there. The captain muttered and cussed with growing impatience; even Dotie appeared restless and unable to concentrate on the ropes as she undid and re-did what she had already done.

The girl kept glancing at the door to the cargo hold. _What could be happening down there?_ _Have they been found out?_ Pretty sure that given his work, her Teacher could throw them off with whatever excuse he could come up with. Even with that short but sour non-history between him and Safana, they ought to assume he wouldn't meddle at all to keep them both, especially the elf, out of that woman's crosshairs.

But still, anything could always go wrong. The thought of her Teacher down there by himself, surrounded by Safana and her guards was disconcerting. _What if someone ratted on them and they took him down there because they already knew?_

Unable to contain her worry, Irse was about to volunteer to fetch news for them when Okami alone returned to the deck. Seeing him unharmed eased her mind somewhat.

"What happened?" she asked as coolly as she could muster.

"I explained to them how yesterday's inspection revealed no breach. But with the bilge having been flushed infrequently, all the collected water may have disguised the minor leaks which can do naught but worsen given the hull's questionable integrity," he replied, his voice a bit louder but more for Shar-Teel's and Dotie's hearing.

 _Well then, they should buy it, and the plan is still on course._ Irse fought the urge to grin with respite.

They were about to resume their work when Safana and Nells emerged from the cargo hold. Irse turned to look and was startled at what she saw behind them.

 _The four guards and all of the slaves._ Perhaps they wanted to keep their _precious cargo_ dry _. How thoughtful._

The first mate took her place at the captain's side while Safana walked to the center of the deck.

"It appears we have a minor setback. It's quite obvious to everyone that our ship is taking on water," the Calishite announced.

"So are we gonna dock in Harper Hole, _boss?_ " Shar-Teel mocked.

"No," Safana said. "We will stop for repairs but not in Berdusk. Though I will know first who sabotaged my ship."

She raised a hand and the guards drew their daggers; each one seized a girl and forced them on their knees. Safana nodded at her men and the blades were thrust at their throats. The hostages and some of the slaves cried in fear while a number of the older girls hugged the younger ones who began to sob.

From the corner of her vision, Irse saw her Teacher's fist clench. She shuffled closer and grasped at his elbow from behind, a gesture to hold him back. As he glanced at her questioningly, she subtly mouthed the word "bluff" at him.

 _That woman's far too greedy to lose one of her precious merchandise._ Irse would know of course. _She had heard it straight from the horse's own mouth._

"No one? Are honesty and honor truly dead in these times?" Safana goaded. She raised a finger and the guards removed the blades.

"But I'm not a complete monster," she purred sweetly. "Why would I take their lives when I could simply take their sight?"

The men then roughly locked their hostages' heads in their arms, and pointed the tips of their daggers at the girl's temples.

Irse bit at her knuckle. _All right, it's not a bluff then._

Finger still raised, Safana raised an expectant eyebrow. Slowly she let down her hand while the guards edged the blades closer to the hostages' eyes. Not a few of the slaves screamed in terror and begged for mercy.

Her grip on his elbow tightened. _What are they going to do now?_

They had talked about it – a backup plan in case they were found out before reaching Berdusk.

And that was to _fight their way out._ No, _he_ would fight his way out, but she was to hide in their room, bar the door and wait it out. The elf insisted she was ready and that all of those drills, both real and only in mind, shouldn't have to go to waste. But he counter-insisted and even made her promise she would do as instructed in the worst scenario. Irse wanted to argue some more though nevertheless agreed, but only to reassure him. _And because it was nearly supper at the time._

One of the guards let out a nasty chuckle and pricked his captive's temple with the point of his dagger, drawing a trickle of blood. The unfortunate girl wailed, sure of her fate.

The elf felt her Teacher shift forward slightly. _Is he going to confess?_ Irse breathed in. _Here goes…_

"Wait! I know who did it. I will tell."

All eyes turned to the helm in surprise.

"Nells?" Shar-Teel croaked.

Safana smiled and motioned for the guards to hold back.

The first mate exhaled, "It was Mister Okami and he was helped by Irse."

Amazingly, Dotie stared at them, mouth open in disbelief.

"I realized it wasn't an accident, nor was Irse that clumsy to lose the sounding line."

Had it been happier times, the elf would have thanked her and wished everyone back at the Keep had heard the rare praise.

"But Dotie mentioned that Mister Okami asked to check the hull yesterday. This morning I noticed the mark was submerged far below the water line. That can't be, no matter the depth. I was about to look into the bilge myself when the guard reported a flood starting in the cargo hold. Mister Okami's reasons earlier might have been convincing, but I know this ship and how much it can take, better than anyone. And then we couldn't speed ourselves along whether by sail or oars for without the sounding line, we wouldn't be sure of the river lest we run ourselves blind through the rocks we know beneath the surface and shallows in these parts. It was no coincidence; they're trying to slow us down and get us to stop at Berdusk where the Harpers are."

"But they didn't know! They wouldn't have known!" The half-elf looked pleadingly at Safana, then at the blacksmith and his apprentice.

" _Nells_!" the captain shouted angrily in warning.

"I know it's wrong but we had no choice! We couldn't pay it all back and we were out of time; they're taking the boat away! Safana came along and promised to help us, but she had Shar-Teel put under a geas before we knew we were supposed to transport slaves bound for Westgate!"

Safana clapped her hands in mocking fashion. "Well done," she said, approached the first mate and slapped her in the face. The half-elf reeled backwards and Shar-Teel rushed to hold Nells at the shoulders and steady her, glaring in helpless rage at the Calishite.

" _That's_ for not telling me sooner." Safana waved a hand and the guards tightened their hold on the hostages, daggers pointed once more at their faces.

"Throw your sword at my feet and get down on your knees, both of you, if you wish for no harm to come to them," the Calishite commanded the pair.

Sensing their hesitation, the woman added, "You're in no position to fight nor bargain, smith. I have the lives of not only the girls but their captain as well. With the geas, Shar-Teel can do no harm to me and nothing else, other than obey every word of my command."

Irse gritted her teeth in frustration. The woman was right. No matter the deal, the crew had no choice but to go with their captain. She knew what a geas was and how serious such a curse could be.

 _Not too long ago, one of the Avowed had fallen victim to one of their pranks, a harmless but humiliating one. Despite apologies from Irse and Imoen, in his wrath he had threatened to put them under a geas as punishment but Gorion got wind of his words. It was no secret that the said monk was visited by her foster father for a "small talk" and soon afterwards with hysterical tears and free-flowing snot, the monk apologized and begged the two girls to understand he was only jesting. When the young elf had asked her father about it, Gorion gently explained what it was, along with a grave admonition against depriving another of their freedom and will whether by law or magic._

Now it was all clear to her – Nells' constant state of agitation and fear for her friend, Shar-Teel's testy defiance against carrying out the work, and Safana acting as if she completely owned the crew.

"To sell living souls and compel the desperate against their will to aid you in your crimes – no tallowed lead can measure the depths of such wickedness," Okami began as he stepped forward. "But a geas can be removed – either by a powerful priest which the Harpers would surely have among their numbers or allies."

Okami gripped at the scabbard, sword hand rising slightly. " _Or by the death of the imposer_. I offer you a choice between the two. Which shall be it then?"

The guards retained their hold on the girls but looked uncertainly at their leader yet the Calishite remained unfazed. "You're wasting your breath. You think I won't do what needs to be done? _I'm taking no chances!_ " she scoffed.

Safana raised a hand and was about to give command to blind the hostages when harsh laughter rang out and echoed across the deck. The odd outburst of hilarity gave everyone pause as they turned to see it was the captain, leaning on the wheel and sniggering, tears in her eyes.

"Funny you should say that," Shar-Teel said with a smirk. "Never thought I'd say this myself but for once in my life…" The captain gripped the wheel.

" _I'm_ taking _my_ chances with a _man!"_

Shar-Teel suddenly steered the wheel to drive the vessel to portside.

"What are you doing? You've gone mad! You'll jeopardize everything!" Safana shrieked as she dived at Shar-Teel. The captain shoved her away and the Calishite fell to the floor. Safana crawled to the nearest mast, clung to it and barked at her guards to stop the captain.

Okami stepped forward and made to draw his sword and intervene, giving the men pause even as they still held on to their captives. The ship began to lurch dangerously; everyone now feeling their balance falter.

Shar-Teel had resumed turning the wheel but disobedience has its limits. The captain cried in agony as her body suddenly spasmed violently, fighting against the magical bond placed upon her.

Just as Shar-Teel's hold faltered, another set of hands grasped at the handles. Nells threw an apologetic smile at her friend, then with all her might, spun the wheel to the left.

It was clear what they intended to do. Everyone scrambled to brace themselves, some at the railings and others dropping flat to the floor.

Okami grasped Irse and Dotie by the scruff of their necks and pushed them to the side, shouting at them to grab hold. He draped himself over the two to shield them, likewise gripping the railings as firmly as he could.

The boat crashed into a sand bank.

In one moment the whole world heaved forward with force to knock out breath and wit, the whiplash pulling everything back with equal violence.

Then all went still.


	13. Riverbank (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may the shores be welcoming to you, and your landings always gentle.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 13: Riverbank**

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Wood creaked and groaned, accompanied by the gentle splashing of water. Then came the thumps of unsteady footing, murmurings, gasps for air.

Irse squirmed. Her Teacher must have sensed the movement for he leaned back and loosened his hold.

"Are any of you hurt?" he asked, checking on them.

"There's a bump… over here," the elf answered, frowning as she rubbed at a hair whorl. "Ah, wait. It's always been there. Nador Butt-Kisser said that Father had always dropped me on my head as a baby. From the tower window."

She grinned. "That's why I have a noggin like an iron pot."

"Good. You are unscathed."

Irse turned to the woman beside her and poked the dwarf in a few places. "Hey Dotie! ... Dotie! You're all right?"

The half-duergar knuckled her own temple and muttered what sounded like a curse in the tongue of the Underdark. "Maybe if ye'd kept yer knobby elbows off my face, I wouldn't even know we'd already plowed through a soddin' mountain!" Dotie hissed as she swatted at the girl's hand.

"Yep, she's fine," Irse answered her own question with a smirk.

He acknowledged her with a nod. Okami let go of the railing but winced and rubbed his arm and shoulder.

"You're hurt!" she fretted and reached out to him.

He smiled, pained but reassuringly. "A mere strain, nothing that will hinder."

Run aground but otherwise mostly intact on the outside, the ship now listed somewhat to its left. Sounds of rushing water could be heard coming from the cargo hold.

Thankfully, the women survived the crash - the older girls had the good sense to protect the little ones. Some leaned themselves against the sides, others were visibly stunned or confused, while a few crawled across the planks in an effort to stand.

Unfortunately, Safana and her escorts had been quicker to recover.

Okami gripped the hilt of his sword but paused as two of the guards already had their blades against their own hostages. The other men wasted no time as well. They went around hurriedly and prodded at some of the girls with the broad side of their weapons, kicked at the ones still on the floor, and grabbed the younger ones by the elbow to haul them up on their feet.

"Come with me, Captain. Your work isn't finished," Safana summoned at Shar-Teel. With an exasperated grunt, the captain rose from her place, and cast an apprehensive look at Nells still unmoving and lying on the floor.

"Burn this filthy piece of driftwood when you're done. We've not far to go. I have a contact in Berdusk just for failures like this!" Safana called after her men.

Sullenly, the captain herself herded the rest of the girls away as the men retreated last while still holding on to their captives.

As soon as the slavers had alighted from the ship, the elf crept towards the side to peek over the railings. She saw Safana and the others heading for the thick of the forest in the general direction of Berdusk, likely to follow the shoreline while remaining hidden.

Left to themselves, the rest of the crew hastened over to the first mate at the helm. Nells lay curled on her side, awake but motionless. Dotie tried to lift her by the shoulders but the half-elf cried in pain.

"She may be suffering from internal injuries. Stay here, keep her awake while I look to see if they had left behind anything that could help her," Okami instructed them. First he searched the captain's quarters, but apparently found nothing of use for then he rushed down into the flooded cargo hold.

"I'm fine. No wounds but maybe bruised my ribs a bit and twisted my ankle. Just hit the floor a little too hard," Nells groaned as she propped herself on her elbows. She stretched out a hand and Dotie took it, allowing the half-elf to support herself as she gingerly leaned on one arm to rise in a sitting position and rest against the mast. They waited for the blacksmith in anxious silence, fidgeting, worry etched on their faces, clearly wondering what would happen and have to be done next.

Irse blinked and remembered something _very important_.

The girl reached into her pocket, took out the biscuits and unwrapped them hurriedly but with care.

"Still whole!" Irse cheered at the miracle. She was about to devour a piece when she noticed the others staring. The biscuits were offered around but Nells refused with a weak smile and a shake of her head. Irse shrugged her shoulders and popped one into her mouth, chewing with contented half-lidded eyes. The rest were promptly crammed into her mouth.

"How can ye be eatin' at a time like this?" Dotie snapped incredulously.

The elf canted her head, tongue poking at the cheek and gums for leftover chewed up biscuit mush in her mouth. A quick swallow, pounding at her collarbone to help it go down without a drink.

"They could have been crushed in my pocket. Do you know how hard it is to get crumbs out of the seams? That's how you get ants in your pants," Irse reasoned defensively as the dwarf continued to scowl at her.

"Why would yer ma's and da's sisters be wantin' the scraps in yer trousers?

" _Ants_! Not _Aunts_!"

"Why stop with aunts? With yer twiggy bones, ye can stuff a whole soddin' elf clan in one pant leg!"

The budding argument was interrupted by a duet of coughing – one pained in front of them, the other impatient behind them.

Okami had already returned with empty hands. "Anything of use, they may have taken with them. The ship will no longer sink but it is still unstable. It is best if we make for the riverbank." He turned to look at his apprentice, eyebrow raised. The elf grinned, quickly licking off a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

At Nell's insistence to be moving now, they pulled the first mate to her feet, propped between the dwarf and elf. Okami alighted first and helped to ease her down the boat.

They had not gone far from the ship when the group came upon three of the guards approaching, swords drawn and intending to carry out their employer's command. One of the men stepped back while the other two forwarded to meet them.

Irse left Nells with Dotie and jogged over to the blacksmith who had gone ahead of them. She drew her own bokken but he barred her wordlessly with his arm. She looked up at him, about to ask if the crash had rocked his head that he saw only one foe where there were three, but the cold look on his face gave her pause.

Suddenly Okami charged, blade flashing from the sheathe; the guards likewise. He parried the blow from the first one, the second man swinging in between them immediately from which the blacksmith evaded, found an opening and drove his sword into the man's gut between jerkin and belt. Blade pulled out just as swiftly, arching to block the other guard's incoming sword with force to push it aside, leaving the mercenary open to a slash across his face and another at his neck, blood spraying from a severed artery. It was over in seconds.

Blood dripping from the katana at his side, Okami marched with slow deliberate steps towards the last man standing. The mercenary glanced with terrified eyes at his mates slumped upon the red-stained grass, and held out one free hand as if it would ward his coming doom. He tossed his own weapon to the side and fell to his knees.

"Don't kill me! I'm just following orders!" he groveled, one trembling hand raised in surrender.

"Your hands and face on the ground," the blacksmith ordered.

"No, you!" the man yelled as his free hand pulled something from his back pocket. The mercenary uttered an arcane word and pointed it at them. _A wand_.

Not waiting to see, Okami dashed towards Irse, putting himself between her and whatever it might discharge.

Rather than a fireball or a lightning bolt, golden light exploded around them. Vision cleared in a wink, only in time to see her Teacher's eyes roll to a close as he crumpled lifeless to the ground, sword falling from his open hand.

 _No!_

Behind them, she heard Nells scream Dotie's name. The elf cried and scrambled to his side. Kneeling, she picked him up by his shoulders and frantically tapped his cheek begging him to wake up. No wounds, no marks, his face serene as if in slumber, yet unresponsive as she called to him.

"What did you do to them?" Irse demanded.

The man appeared more surprised, staring at the wand in his clutches. "Damnit! This thing doesn't work on _knife-ears_?"

"They're only unconscious, Irse! A sleep spell!" Nells shouted, herself kneeling beside the fallen dwarf.

"Doesn't matter now. At least half my work's already done," he sneered as he tossed the thing away and rose to his feet, drawing another weapon from his belt - a long dagger, some good nine inches of steel.

The elf gently laid her Teacher down on the ground and grabbed her own bokken.

 _It was up to her now._ She walked towards the mercenary; wooden sword raised at _chudan,_ mid-level guard. Seeing his opponent wielding a longer weapon than his, the man backed away. They circled each other.

First to strike, the slaver lunged and swiped with his dagger. It was cleanly deflected but she hopped back, instinct driving her away from his reach. The mercenary continued his attacks, ducking from her defensive counters but weaving his own nearer and nearer. He finally got close enough; startled, the elf tried to sidestep but all he had to do was swing his blade at her. A sudden sting as the dagger bit into her arm, Irse stumbled away and rounded immediately to face him. A quick glance and she frowned at the blood seeping into her torn sleeve. The wooden sword wavered for a moment.

Reading her hesitance, the man rushed at her once more, the swings and thrusts of his dagger now quicker, more confident. She held the bokken out, barely moving and using it instead as a shield and to feebly swat at the enemy. A feint from him, a blunder on her part. Irse staggered back, a second gash in the other arm.

The elf cast a worried glance at her Teacher, still unconscious. The guard saw and laughed.

"Those things work for a pretty while, girl. By the time he should wake, he won't!" And the man motioned as if slitting the throat of an imaginary victim, clearly proud of his penchant for finishing off an opponent who couldn't fight back.

Anger tightened her grip on the bokken. They charged at the same time, parrying each other's attacks. But frustration directed her swings even as the man confidently ducked each one. In desperation she drove the bokken forward at level to his face, an attempt to smash the cocky grin spreading on his mouth. To her surprise he grabbed the wooden sword with his free hand and yanked at it. Irse lost her balance, gasping as she felt blade slash her shoulder. Only luck and muscle memory pushed her to slide back before he could attempt another stab. The mercenary wiped the sweat from his lips and twirled his long dagger, seemingly unconcerned at having to take his time.

 _He's toying with her!_

Breathing now heavy and blood patching on her shoulder. _C'mon! What are you afraid of? Getting shanked in the face of course!_ Irse snorted at herself in irritation. She had already done everything she had learned, yet nothing's working against a man with a smaller weapon! Even when she blocked his strikes, he still got through. But was that what she was trying to do? Defend herself, hold out for as long as she could?

 _If he gets to her before her Teacher comes to?_

 _Then they will all die here. And she the first one to go._

 _Is that what she was afraid of?_ Her mind snapped into realization as the question was met by another – one almost forgotten but now recalled from not too long ago.

 _How will not being afraid to die be what keeps me alive?_

A hand briefly touched her left ear and she remembered her Teacher's answer. The elf breathed in deeply and lowered her weapon from defensive _chudan_ to open _waki_ , the bokken at her left and tip pointing behind. The mercenary narrowed his eyes as if guessing her following move - given the stance, her next strike apparently coming from her left. He shifted his foot forward, clearly confident at having read his inexperienced opponent's next step.

She launched herself at him, still in _waki_ and unguarded. Dagger blade came at her but this time the elf made no move to block, only sidestepping and bokken still pointing behind. Again, the familiar sting of another dagger cut grazing the shoulder, but ignored as mind and foot now worked together to keep moving. The man leapt back, likely having expected the wooden sword to swipe at him but it never came.

Instead of staying put, Irse continued to charge at him, readying for an upswing. The mercenary met her again but at the last second upon closing the gap, he switched the blade from his right hand to his left to avoid her incoming upward strike, perhaps aiming for her right shoulder or neck as well.

Instantaneously however, Irse slid to her left, pivoting to face the man's left side. The bokken reversed trajectory to arch from behind then to a downswing to reach and smack at the man's right hand, causing him to falter. Then without pause, she brought the bokken up, connecting with his jaw.

A satisfying crack, and he spun with momentum before falling to the ground with a thud.

Shocked, the elf blinked a few times before it hit her. _She got him!_

Grasped the wooden sword with both hands and raised it above her head in triumph, did a gangly little victory jig but halted at an alarming realization.

"Wait...is he... dead?" Irse stammered and stepped back.

Nells reassured her, "Not likely. Feel his wrist for a pulse."

The girl shuffled closer to the prone body. A trembling hand stretched out to take the man's wrist, but it shrank back in disgust. Irse remembered him as the guard who had tried to do his business at the stern.

"What if he doesn't wash his hands?"

The first mate sighed a little too loudly. "All right, just… look and see if he's still breathing."

Irse poked at him with her bokken. He didn't respond but his fingers twitched. The elf exhaled with relief. They would be able to take this one alive and bring him to the authorities at Berdusk.

Elated and the hurt of her wounds ignored, Irse raced back to the ship to fetch rope, finding and grabbing a coil of free lines on deck. She returned and proceeded to hogtie the man, recalling the ways with which her Teacher showed her how to firmly knot a cord.

When the mercenary was bound and secured, the elf gingerly checked his belt and pockets for anything useful. Hopefully, he would happen to have a bottle of those cure-all healing potions brewed for the healers back at the Keep and always bought in wholesale by visiting adventurers-slash-scholars. She often thought it amusing to watch those swashbuckling types buy bundles if not crates of the bottled stuff from the apothecary, breaking into hysterics whenever Brother Karan had to tell them that he'd already run out of stock. The way they went about it, one would think they'd die if they stubbed their toe against a table and had no potion to drink away the "ouchies _"_.

But seeing the anguish in Nells' face as she tried to ignore the pain and sit up – it was now understandable why they treated such magical aids as a matter of life and death. With a start, she realized she had forgotten about the patches of blood on her sleeve. The rush of battle yet to subside had definitely numbed her wounds. She cringed at the thought of when she would have to change shirt later and see the damage for herself.

Except for a pouch of coins that she tossed to the side, she found nothing of note on his person. The elf moved on to the ones that had been slain by her Teacher. For a moment, the girl hesitated, wondering if it wasn't disrespectful to be looting corpses, especially that of the recent dead, but reminded herself that had it been bandits, and by association – bad folk such as these slavers, they wouldn't even think twice of stripping hers of valuables even before the life had completely bled out of her veins.

A quick check on them yielded a single vial, the pasted strip of parchment label confirming that it was what she needed. Only one bottle and even smaller than the ones in Brother Karan's apothecary, but it was better than nothing. Irse scooted over to Nells and handed her the bottle.

"There's still enough left over," the girl offered as she uncorked the vial and put it in the first mate's hand.

Nells hesitated, gesturing to the elf's arms and shoulders. "What about you?"

"Just scratches," she brushed it off but the half-elf still looked at her with concern. "These are nothing. We also got cats back in Candlekeep." _Cats the size of the rats at the Gate._

Nells took the bottle and cork from the girl but only drank a few sips, leaving the vial with more than two-thirds of its contents. She re-sealed the potion and waved a dismissive hand at the look of protest on the young elf's face.

"That should be enough to patch up the worst inside. Don't worry, I'll live. We should save the rest for now, just in case" the first mate decided.

Irse got up, walked over to Okami and knelt beside him. "That man said they won't wake until after a while. But we'll lose track of the others if we wait any longer."

"You're going after them by yourself? No, Irse! It's too dangerous! At least let me go with you. I'll slow us down but... you saw what that woman's capable of, and she still has one of her escorts with her." _And Shar-Teel._

"You're not fully healed and someone has to watch over them," the elf reasoned as she gestured at their fallen companions. "How about I stay hidden? I'll only follow them, maybe get a sense of where they're going. I'll leave tracks in case Teacher comes to or I'll return as soon as I can."

The young elf laid the bokken at her side, hands balling into fists and resting on her knees. It sounded like a good plan, but Nells was right. If caught, she would be outnumbered - a trio of steel against a wooden stick. _But what could one do to better the odds?_

If only there was some way to make her Teacher regain his consciousness now. But magic was magic, and even her infinitely patient foster father had acknowledged her utter lack of affinity for the arcane.

 _Maybe if she smacked him hard enough._

The elf snickered with a bit of satisfaction at the thought, then grimaced. _Or maybe not._

Irse sighed as she looked at her Teacher, his eyes still closed and his lips unmoving.

Suddenly she had an _idea_.

Hastily, the girl untied the silk cord at his sash, removed the scabbard, and gathered the fallen katana near his hand. Reached into her pocket, finding the kerchief that Okami had used to wrap the biscuits, shook it free of crumbs, then used the cloth to wipe the blade before re-sheathing. She got to her feet to secure the sword at her own belt.

"I know I made a promise, but -," the elf whispered at him. "I swear, I'll bring it back without a scratch." She turned to face the woods, about to take a step.

"Please, be careful!" the first mate shouted after her.

Irse looked over her shoulders at Nells with a grin, and cast her a mock salute. One deep breath, left hand taking hold of the scabbard, now ready and determined.

And then like a deer unbound, the elf sprang forth on her feet, running swiftly as the wind into the forest.


	14. First Fruit (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may all your endeavors bear fruit and tree. :)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 14: First Fruit**

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Weeks ago, if someone had asked her what she thought she would be doing today, she would have answered washing kettles and dishes at the kitchens, refilling inkpots for the Seekers whose job it was to refill the inkpots for the Avowed scribes at the scriptorium, scrubbing the moss off stone stairwells, sweeping the stables, a host of other errands, or her favorite chore – helping Brother Karan chop up herbs at his apothecary followed with the task of "cleaning" up the jar of sweets at his desk.

Not running around alone in the forest, a borrowed sword at her side, tracking slavers.

Irse halted and briefly considered something. _What if they attack her by surprise? Could she draw as quickly as Okami would?_

She wrinkled her nose. _Of course not_. What is one night and imagination against years of practice and actual combat?

Were she to ask him how he could do so perfectly each time, he would most likely recite another Kozakuran proverb about doing something a thousand and thousand times until it is as natural as the falling of rain upon the earth, as natural as the sprouting of the blade of grass, as natural as the gusting of the wind, as natural as the breathing of an infant.

Or as natural as running to the loo when you've chomped down on a week-old moldy loaf without checking first but ignoring the musty taste of wet dirt because you were too hungry to care.

Irse snickered, then cleared her throat. _Focus!_

The decision was clear then. Best to take it out now and be ready. Thumb flicked at the guard to release the hilt. The elf drew the blade, admiring the way the sunlight glinted at the razor edge. Hefting the sword in one hand to get a feel of its weight again, then swinging at a few directions. Clumsily.

Though they use both hands with the bokken during practice, in that one encounter with the slaver guards, the girl remembered her Teacher seamlessly switching to wielding his katana with both hands or single-handed, perhaps depending on the opportunity.

As she practiced a few more swipes, she gathered that the sword required more strength to carry in one hand, but the weight certainly added to the momentum. No wonder – despite the fine blade, the one-handed swing of the _battojutsu_ carried the force of a heavier object.

The elf nodded to herself, deciding instead to wield the sword as she would her bokken, then continued her trek.

"Sorry about this, Mister Tree. Next year you'll grow a new bark anyway," Irse apologized as she slashed an "x" at the trunk. She followed a roughly straight path, marking each tree with the blade, trusting Nells to point Okami to her general direction and for him to find her marks.

 _Just in case_.

Soon the girl came upon a small clearing. Keen elven eyes spotted a line of pink amongst the greens and browns of the forest floor. She peered down to examine it – a woven string, perhaps a hair ribbon from one of the girls? If so, then she was on the right path.

The elf rose to her feet and absently scratched the back of her ear, pondering the wisdom of staying on their track or returning to the others.

Too late did she turn her head at the sound of footfalls rushing from behind. Left shoulder exploded with pain from a swift and heavy punch. Startled she dropped the sword, feeling a boot at her back and pitching forward.

As she fell, left hand stretched out to break her fall, but it crumpled against the soft earth as pain flared up once more. The elf ran her other hand against the hurting shoulder, sensing at where she felt the hit.

It came back with blood. Not a punch, but a shallow stab at the back!

She stared dumbly at the bright red stain on her fingertips, not noticing the assailant already standing by her side. A hand grabbed at the girl's hair, forcing her face to the ground. Despite the fear and panic, keen elven ears registered the sound of the attacker's breathing.

Thin and high-pitched like her own after an exertion. It sounded like a woman. _Shar-Teel!_

"Captain! Please! I don't want to fight you!" the elf begged.

She was answered with harsh feminine laughter.

"Darling girl, I'm not your captain."

The hand at her head let go but was replaced with a quick boot to her ribs. The girl cried in pain but rolled away then half-crawled, half-dragged her knees to put distance between them. Finally she got to her feet and threw herself at the nearest tree, turning around to lean against the trunk.

Luckily for her, Safana didn't seem in a rush to follow. _Though she had not really gotten far._ The Calishite strolled towards her, unhurried, predative smile on her face.

Through the dull ache, her mind snapped in alarm. She had dropped her sword. _His_ sword.

Perhaps a mad dash for the katana was possible but now Safana stood between them, putting the blade beyond her sight. The Calishite leaned forward, hands behind her back like a curious observer.

"You're here, and still alive. Either you're a coward and left your friends to die at the hands of my men, or you've somehow taken care of them. I'm not surprised the blacksmith's sword would be good for something."

"Your lackeys... Teacher already cut them down. I've seen weeds put up more fight against a grass-cutter."

"And yet the rest of you aren't here. It can only mean one thing – he finally used that wand for something other than putting a slave to sleep."

Irse bit her lip. Safana seemed to have read the girl's mind and laughed. She drew out her hand and waved teasingly at the elf.

"Looking for this?" The katana was now in Safana's hand. She eyed the length of the blade.

"So you got it out of his sheathe. I think I'm jealous!"

"You can too, that is… if he liked you at all to teach you how, which he'd never, you _evil hag!_ " Irse taunted, chuckling in spite of the pain.

The Calishite's face contorted with contempt. Irse had seen that look before, directed at her. Briefly, the young elf wondered why taking jabs at the woman's vanity, intended and otherwise, always worked too well.

Mockingly, she chanted "hag" at Safana, strangely emboldened at seeing the woman's hand rising and curling into a fist.

 _Good_. Get her riled up, distracted enough to waste time and slap her around. Hopefully not strong enough to knock off a tooth or two.

But pain radiated once more from her left shoulder blade, causing her to wince and force her eyes shut tight for a moment.

As she did, something jabbed at her. First a pinprick, then growing as it pushed further in, the puncture expanding downwards as more of it tore through skin.

Safana had run her through with the katana, grabbing at the elf's shoulder to force it deeper.

Stunned, Irse dropped to her knees and looked down. The sword's hilt was now sticking out of her abdomen, a red patch slowly blooming at the spot where it went through.

 _Where's the rest of it?_ Unthinkingly, the girl reached for her back and gasped as she felt the greater length of steel that had come through.

Then the sensations set in – raw at where the skin had been pierced, numbness and pressure at where she knew the blade rested inside.

Safana pouted as she clasped her hands in feigned remorse. "Oh, my! That must hurt! _See what you made me do_?"

Instinctively her hands went up to take hold of the grip but stopped as the Calishite playfully wagged a finger and tutted at her.

"I wouldn't if I were you. Take it out and you bleed to death quickly. As much as I hate you, dear, I need you alive."

"To sell me too? Sorry, damaged goods now," Irse jeered in between wheezes, trembling hand flicking at the scarred left ear.

Safana smiled and crouched in front of her, running a hand through Irse's hair.

"Oh, you think this is bad? I could have asked my _pets_ to take care of you for me, but I prefer the satisfaction of dealing with a pest myself. And besides, brutes such as them tend to leave a battered, unsightly mess in their wake. Such lack of finesse. I prefer that your blood is spilled as little as possible and your bones and at least some of your organs intact. Especially everything inside your skull and ribcage."

"What?" the girl sputtered, confused.

The woman curled her hand into a fist, pulling at the girl's hair. Irse flinched but kept her jaw set, intent on not giving the other the satisfaction of seeing her suffer.

"Oh, you don't know? Sweet summer child of _your_ _people_. Elves! Blessed with eternal youth and a life of centuries! Oh, what we wouldn't do and who we wouldn't kill to have a taste of that!" Safana whispered as she eyed the young elf appraisingly.

Dark eyes glinted with greed.

"More than your price as a slave is your price as a walking bag of components. The gold that necromancers would pay for your heart alone are enough to commission a regenerative tonic made from your blood and skin. Rare ingredients - for there are not many of your age found beyond your hidden homelands, but effective, so I've heard. Not only will you make me profitable, but you will keep me youthful just like your kind for a long, long time."

 _She would be killed only for that._ The shock silenced her for a moment as she stared with disgust at the woman, hoping this was some absurd joke on par with the old wives' tales of bridge trolls stealing and stuffing misbehaving children into sacks and using their blood to harden the wooden posts.

But Safana's eyes were already glazing with anticipation, no doubt counting the gold and the years of reclaimed youth. _Not a bluff, then._

With growing panic her mind wondered. _Where are they? It's been a while. They should be up and moving by now. They must be looking for her. Her Teacher will come, and he will rescue her just as he did before._

Though of course, he would surely be disappointed that she had broken her word and taken his sword.

Irse flinched. _And it's going to hurt like the nine hells when he pulls it out of her._

But still, a surge of hope. They would come for her, the elf desperately clung to the thought. But she must buy them time if they were to have any chance of saving the girls.

The elf snorted and grinned defiantly at her captor, summoning breath and strength for one more taunt. "Why? Lacing up your corset and a barrel of face lard aren't doing it for you anymore?"

The Calishite's face paled with rage. Safana yanked at Irse's hair and shoved her away. She got up and walked a few steps to where she had dropped her dagger when she had impaled the girl with the sword.

"Insult me as much as you want, as your pathetic captain can only do, but I still come on top. Despite everything, you made this into a _fruitful_ venture for me. As my show of thanks, I'll do as I said and let you live for a while."

"Generous, but I won't ask for much. Just long enough to see you rot in jail."

"Don't get your hopes up. Your hours starts winding down the moment they surrender in exchange for your life. With such terms, I'm quite sure your master won't refuse me this time," Safana said with confidence.

 _Hope gave way to despair_. Irse felt her heart sinking into a dark pit, unable to deny for she knew it was true and knowing what would come next.

"Don't worry, I'm very _forgiving_. The traitorous crew won't lose their lives, only use the rest of it in my service, but under a geas just like their captain. Fail me again, and they will join the girls at the auction block."

 _Despair gave way to anger_. She rose and both hands grabbed at the hilt and yanked, the effort slowed only by the agony of insides rending anew.

Disturbed and horrified at the elf's attempt, the Calishite berated her, "You are mad! A mad dog! Even if you could, you'll die before you take even one step."

Irse froze, hands falling limp to her sides, breathing ragged, tasting the iron tang of blood now staining her teeth.

Safana was right; she would only kill herself for nothing. All she must do is wait for them. For him. They'll think of something. And then everything will be all right.

 _Any minute now._

"Smart girl. After all, since your failure will cost your friends their freedom, the least you could do is to live to apologize to them." Safana exulted, a smile of triumph on her lips. "And to say goodbye to your master."

At the mention of her Teacher, eyes already fading from pain and weakness suddenly widened at an inner vision of him.

"As you watch helpless while around the neck beneath his beautiful face, I put the iron collar of a slave. _My slave._ "

 _Him, a slave. Because of her. Because she failed._

 _Anger surged into fury_. Irse's hand flew to the hilt as she drove herself forward.

And from her body, drew the sword in _battojutsu_.

The elf glided past the Calishite, feet sliding to a stop.

A moment of stillness, and the silence was broken by Safana's final breath, a whispered croak from a severed throat, and a heavy thump as deadweight fell to the ground.

Irse lowered the blade and looked down at the void from where it had been drawn.

And then she sank to her knees and slumped forward upon the soft grass, watching with unblinking eyes as blood slowly watered the earth beneath her hand.


	15. Beyond the Trees (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, Many thanks for your patience with this wee tale. A thousand apologies for The River Arc not yet concluding in this chapter; some issues that need to be dealt with before we sail on. ^^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 15: Beyond the Trees**

* * *

There was no tunnel, no bright light, not even darkness. Only the world around her, still there. _And more alive than ever._

The grass beside her face, greener, twitching, pulsing as if breathing with tiny lungs. Cheek flat on the ground, the scent of the earth filled her nostrils, damp almost sweet, interposed by the pungency of rotting leaves blanketing the undergrowth. Above, as far as her eyes could see, the sky was at its bluest; clearer, infinite, brightness near blinding. Even the wind with the leaves above her quiet and still, yet to her skin and ears like the light touch and whisper of another being. Her own breath, pausing in between eternities, a hollow echo inside yet deafening in her own ears.

All the world was still and alive, while time stood unmoving and stretched itself into the endless horizon beyond the trees.

What it would be like to pass on; this must be it. Of the infinite possibilities, the young elf took comfort from knowing she wouldn't go the ways that she feared – namely from something stupid or embarrassing.

Such as from choking to death on a piece of hard bread because one had been too greedy and hungry to chew first. Haste was justified because it had been pilfered from another's plate.

Or plunging to one's death after startling a goat then getting butted off a cliff in retaliation. After all, it was old and limping; who could have expected the ancient thing to still have it in him? Thank the gods for that ledge below and tree root jutting out between the cracks of the rockface.

Or possibly breaking one's neck after blindly leaping off a barn roof without a harness or anything to catch one's fall because Brother Karan's new assistant was already climbing up the ladder and waving a cleaver after having screamed upon finding a human head floating inside a jar on his desk. It was no true head of course – merely a face ripped out of an old discarded oil portrait then wrapped around a cabbage, the murky well water helping in the disguise. To their surprise, Brother Karan found that one hilarious; bless his sweet serious soul. A sprained ankle, thunder and brimstone from the Master of Tomes, and three nights without supper were worth seeing the smile beneath those perpetually smudged spectacles.

Those, and countless more.

And through it all, Gorion had admonished her, though with unending patience and gentleness as if one transgression after another couldn't have been the worst. Well then, _what could be the worst?_ Had she strength, the elf would have raised her head to look at the body that lay a little beyond her feet.

"Sorry," she whispered, lips half-moving. If only there was some way to write it down for her foster father, and perhaps to her mother. _Wherever she was now_. What if her parents were already there on the other side, and Gorion only couldn't bear to say so himself? In her mind's eye, Alianna's imagined face gazed at her from beyond the trees. She could almost see her mother now, not daring to imagine them sharing the same face, instead picturing her a storybook noble lady, elegant, graceful, except with pointed ears like hers.

A pair of worn and scruffy boots stomped into her view, stopping inches from her face. Irse's eyes rolled up to regard the other.

 _This one was definitely not her mother._

Shar-Teel snorted and crouched down, peering at her with indifferent disbelief.

"Eh, still alive after that _?_ What's wrong with you?"

Irse could only grimace in response. A quick glance at the woman's hand and she saw Shar-Teel's own sword covered with blood, no doubt belonging to the mercenary who had gone with them. The captain sheathed the blade and grabbed the elf by the shoulders, pulling her up from the ground with some effort. Around them the freed slaves gathered with their grimy sweaty faces bearing what could only be described as relief.

"Put some life in those legs. I'm not dragging you all the way to the ship," Shar-Teel groused.

"I'll help," one of the older girls volunteered and stepped forward, the one who had spoken to Irse in the cargo hold. Propped between her and the captain, the elf hung like a limp shirt drying on the lines except she was still soaked in her own blood.

Through the fog growing in her mind, Irse remembered. "Teacher's sword… must take it back," she mumbled.

Shar-Teel gestured with her head at one of the children. "Get her sword," she commanded.

A lass, about Irse's age, obeyed and retrieved the katana, holding it by the hilt with only her fingers and as far as she could from herself, apparently squeamish at the blood coating the blade.

"Lose it and you lose your teeth!" the captain yapped at her who flinched and clutched the sword more securely this time with both hands.

And then Irse remembered something else. "Safana… look in her clothes…"

Shar-Teel balked. "Just 'cause I hate men doesn't mean I swing the other way either, more so with those weird kinks; so don't ask me to feel up her bloody corpse."

Had she the strength, Irse would have rolled her eyes. "No. Her belt. Might be something important."

The captain barked an order to salvage the Calishite's girdle. Two of the children scooted over to where the body lay and worked together to unfasten and take it.

"Can we go now, Your Highness? Or do you want us to pick roses for your carriage too?" the woman asked impatiently to which the elf nodded weakly.

Their group had not gone far when she heard voices from beyond the trees calling for her. _They're awake!_ Too weary to look up, however, peripheral vision allowed her a glimpse of Okami and Dotie approaching them. Never had she been relieved to see the crabby dwarf but dreading the sight of her Teacher.

"I will take her." His voice was terse.

Force of habit made her sneak a peek at the lass holding the katana and wonder if there was some way to signal her to hide it out of Okami's sight. He must be dismayed at waking up and finding his sword gone, his student's word broken. Perhaps if she feigned being extra hurt then he might go easy on the lecture later.

Shar-Teel chuckled casually as she and the other girl eased the elf over to the blacksmith. "Relax. Kid's fine. Look, she's… not yet stiff."

"Yeah, Teacher. I'm good," Irse slurred as she raised her head and grinned at him. She attempted to laugh off her current state. Instead she coughed and sputtered, then clung to his shoulder as she threw up on the grass beside them. Her vomit looked black, wet, and crumbly.

The captain exclaimed with disgust, "Sard it! Are you eating our coffee grounds too?" Shar-Teel narrowed her eyes at Dotie. "Have we got any?"

"Nae, but ye'd think elves be pukin' rainbows an' unicorns instead," the dwarven woman remarked in amazement.

"No, that is already blood," Okami said heatedly as he scooped her up in his arms. Without wasting another word, he turned and sprinted swiftly to return to the ship, carrying his apprentice as if she were no burden. Above his head, the elf watched the trees and the sky speeding past. Shar-Teel was at their side, keeping pace as if determined not to be outrun by a man.

 _Run through with your sword. Blade came out at the back._ Words she had heard coming from the captain, but what he thought of that, she would not know for Okami responded instead with urgency, "In our quarters, in my pack are bandages and wound medicine. Hurry, I beg you!"

Surprisingly, Shar-Teel didn't argue back, merely nodding and sprinting ahead of them. Not long, they reached the shore where the boat was moored. Nells was already standing albeit bowed and clutching at her side in pain and not fully recovered.

Okami set her down at the grass, keeping her seated and upright. Shar-Teel arrived with her Teacher's pack and pulled out the rolls of bandages and a pouch. Limping somewhat, Nells hastened over and brought them the vial of healing potion.

"I drank a few more drops myself but there's a bit left," the half-elf said.

As Okami raised Irse's head and steadied her jaw, the first mate aimed the contents straight into the elf's throat. The shock of wet on dry mouth made her gag, most of the liquid sputtering out of her lips.

"Wasted!" Shar-Teel hissed.

"Sorry," the elf apologized.

All the world melded into a flurry of movement and blur. Dimly aware of the tunic being pulled over her head and leaving her with only the cotton bandeau that she had taken to wrapping around her chest, wincing as cloth stiff with dried blood already adhering to the broken skin was peeled away. What felt like dust was sprinkled on the open wounds, the _san qi_ undoubtedly. Abdomen swathed with bandages with a few strips looped around her left shoulder to secure the gauze on the shoulder blade while on her arms, the results of the duel were likewise cleaned.

By then, the rest of the children have arrived. Shar-Teel snatched the Calishite's belt from one of them and tore open the pouch. She pulled out the palm-sized journal and a small bottle, squinting at the label.

"Is it a healing potion too?" Nells asked hopefully.

Shar-Teel's eyes widened with revulsion. " _Horse Oil Beauty Ointment for the Face,_ " she said and tossed the bottle to the side. "Damned bitch would rather die pretty than live ugly."

The first mate's shoulders sagged with disappointment. "At least we got her patched up. She should be all right."

Guts were no longer in danger of leaking out, however within the hour she was shivering violently howbeit sweating despite the cool air. She shut her eyes tightly as a warm calloused hand rested on her forehead.

"A fever," Okami said. A damp cloth was placed on her forehead. And they waited.

Dimly she heard Shar-Teel recounting what had happened to them after they left the ship. Their group had stopped at the clearing when Safana ordered her guard to wait for the others. He had returned to report on seeing the elf, alone and clearly coming after them. The Calishite had everyone move on ahead while she stayed to deal with Irse herself.

"Thought she was planning something. That woman never did like the kid."

Had she the strength, Irse would have snickered at the captain's observation. Safana _did_ like her after all for what her Tel'Quessir innards could give the woman _._

They hadn't gone far when Shar-Teel had told the guard to stay put with the slaves. The captain went back, in time to witness everything, itching to jump in and avenge herself on her employer, unable because of the geas. Then with Safana's death, Shar-Teel had immediately felt herself freed, describing the sensation as a great weight leaving her body and separating itself from her chest. That was when she decided to head back and kill the remaining mercenary, caught off-guard for assuming the bond was still in effect.

As Shar-Teel described the confrontation, the elf closed her eyes, no longer hearing the words. Rather, feeling once more the sliding of steel against flesh instead of wood as it drew free; seeing again the blade arching across the air in front of her and the woman's eyes the moment the razor edge met the side of her throat. And what could she have seen in the elf's eyes at that instant as well? _No one will ever know._

The world swayed around her, prompting the urge to heave once more. Again, bile and crumbly blood dribbled on the grass. Finally too weak to prop herself up to vomit, Irse settled down, labored breath now rapid and shallow.

"From the looks of it, I don't think she'll -, "Shar-Teel began but was cut off as Nells grasped her arm with an admonishing look. The captain grunted and rose to her feet, the first mate doing likewise. The two women cast worried looks at her Teacher and walked away, Shar-Teel hollering at someone over something else. A thin blanket was pulled over her and tucked in at her sides.

"Rest for now. In the morning, all will be well," he assured her though his tone intimated otherwise.

Hours waved by, slipping in and out between the waking world and a haze; nonetheless aware of the man in a sitting-kneel beside her, untiring in his vigil. Head moved restlessly even as her own breath came in between lengthy pauses. She groaned as every joint ached, growing more restive and clawing at the blanket beneath her, fingers raking at the ground through the rough cloth.

"I want to see my mother, my father," Irse suddenly rambled, squirming, feeling herself suffocated by the threadbare blanket and the bandages.

"Save your strength," her Teacher hushed as he gently righted the blanket where it had come loose from her.

"But I _pray_ every night... no one hears, nothing," she continued in her delirium.

At her words, Okami paused as if seized by a sudden thought. He rushed to where his pack lay on the ground near them. Irse spied him as he rummaged through his things, noting how this was the only time she had seen him near frantic. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it for he tossed the bag away and hurried back to her side. And whatever it was, it must have been small for his fist was closed tightly as if in fear of losing it.

"Wolves and dogs, and all manner of beasts have I seen pass on to the fields beyond, not a few by my own hand. Not this fox, I ask but if only he will hear," her Teacher murmured as if in a trance.

"If who will what?"

Instead of answering, he laid a hand on her forehead, closed his eyes and bowed his own head, whispering a desperate wordless recitation.

Irse furrowed her brows as she tried to read the voiceless words on his lips but gave up. Sleep and weariness whispered at her and it was a call that couldn't be ignored.

* * *

It was to darkness that she opened her eyes, and to an odd feeling of peace as if yesterday had never been at all. First impulse was to rise, nevertheless too drained that she settled for watching the sky and the stars, the dying embers of the campfire around which everyone else lay sprawled as they dreamed and snored, Okami sitting cross-legged beside her, and behind him the trees and their shadowy forms.

And standing next to her on the other side of the bedroll, a stranger.

Startled, Irse opened her mouth to raise the alarm but found her tongue too parched and her strength too little to get up by herself and rouse her Teacher. She peered at the others, but they were too far and too deep in their sleep. Helpless, Irse looked up at the intruder.

An elf, and the most beautiful being in her sight. Tall even by human standards yet lithe and refined as the feyfolk, hair of spun gold and flowing free, features finely sculpted. Garbed in silver mail and a blue cloak upon the shoulders, twin swords sheathed at the side.

The visitor went down on one knee as if to take a closer look at her, giving the girl a glimpse of the intricate patterns on the mail shirt – collar and shoulder plates fashioned as silver leaves, and on the breast an engraving of a long and short sword between a quarter moon and a full moon.

Briefly, Irse wondered if she had seen the symbol somewhere, somewhere dark and far away. No matter, this must be a mere vision, a dream. With the first thought in mind, Irse ventured.

"Are _you_ my mother?"

The stranger laughed, opened the mouth to respond but paused, seemingly deducing that the young elf knew not how to speak in their own tongue.

"No, dearest child. I am _not_ your mother." A reply in Common, a masculine voice, commanding notwithstanding benevolent, if sunlight itself could speak.

"Oh," Irse exhaled with defeat. "My father, then?"

The smile faded from the elven man's lips, his eyes sad and compassionate.

"I would that it was, but then you would not be here." He leaned closer, an inquisitive look on the golden face as if the very normal girl he was examining was even stranger than his otherworldly presence.

"Curious that you could perceive me through the veil of mortal eyes," he remarked.

Irse furrowed her brows. How could anyone overlook him in the darkness when he glowed, nay, shone; granted it was as if the sun willingly confined itself in a crystal vessel lest it blind and burn.

"Well… 'course I can. You're… _shiny."_

He laughed once more.

"Why are you here? Are you lost?"

Were she in full grasp of her wits, Irse would have thumped herself for posing a silly question to a handsome man. On the other hand, it was a logical one, for how else could someone as regal as this elfin prince end up in the wilderness next to a smelly river crossed by crazy riverboat folk and slavers.

"A sword… a sword called to me and pleaded for another that had been broken. Though not of my people, I hearkened to him," he replied, his eyes darting to the side.

Irse wondered if he was looking at her Teacher, but the elven man turned his sight upon her once more.

"And you must not waste that boon by squandering what hours remain of your rest."

"I'm not sleepy anymore. I'm hungr-," Irse protested as she scrambled to get up but was cut off as the elven man smiled kindly, raised a hand and with a slender finger, swiftly poked her between the eyes. Again she fell back into dreamless sleep, the memory of his light and laughter fading to black.

* * *

Dawn was still an hour or more away, but Irse had woken, feeling better rested, watching and waiting, wrapped with a blanket and sitting upon the grass. Her Teacher slept on, sitting cross-legged and head bowed, no doubt exhausted from holding vigil through the night. The elf wondered how he could stay in such position for hours and not tumble or crumple down. Must be a Kozakuran feat.

Tempting as it was to shake him awake and greet him with the good news, but then he deserved to rest. That, and the lecture of taking his sword without his permission could wait a little longer.

And then her stomach rumbled.

Startled, Okami raised his head, eyes hazy with the fog of sleep, looking around and at the sky as if wondering if it had been thunder and coming rain.

"Nobody's up yet. Are there leftovers from supper? You know… while I wait for breakfast?" Irse greeted him.

He stared at her, astonished.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Teacher. But it looks like my stomach's got its own mouth now."

Okami stretched the stiffness out of his legs, then knelt beside his apprentice. He reached out a hand towards her. The elf knew what he was thinking and pulled back the blanket from herself, revealing the bandaged abdomen, the bleached cotton stained with dried blood. He picked a knife from among the things strewn beside them and cut through the cloth with care.

Irse peered down. _A second mouth indeed_. The scar, ridged like pale lips, evidence of a wound fully healed.

Not the first time that Irse had seen folks already bandaged up and seemingly all right, suddenly succumb to whatever unseen hurts coursed through their bodies – as in with that night when the bandits attacked the merchant caravan. The _san qi_ did its work to stem the bleeding, but it was the internal damage and the blood loss that nearly did her in. Yet somehow, she had pulled through.

The blacksmith unraveled the rest of the bindings to check on her back where she had been stabbed in the upper shoulder and down where the blade had come through; his lack of exclamation a sign that the other wounds had likewise healed on their own.

It had to be good news and yet he said nothing, and the silence weighed on her. Where would he start? Breaking her promise not to take his sword? Leaving them behind while they were unconscious and vulnerable? Her recklessness that could have endangered the slaves even more?

Finally he was done gathering the soiled bandages. He leaned back and looked at her, remaining wordless.

"I had the strangest dream," Irse began as she wrapped herself with the blanket, hoping to ease the oppressive silence, and proceeded to tell him of the vision of the elven man who came to her in the night, who spoke to her of a sword in a riddle.

"And he wore this silver armor with a sort of crest – two blades between a couple of moons. Ah! I forgot to ask him for his name! He was only a dream, I know, but I wished I had asked," she said with regret.

"I know who he is."

Irse stared at him, puzzled.

"His name is Tethrin Veralde."

* * *

She idled a silver medallion against her palm, fingertips examining the engravings on the surface - a long and short sword between a quarter moon and a full moon. Okami had handed it to her earlier and Irse had tried staring at it for as long as she could in hopes of prying some dusty memory from the mental shelves.

On the other hand, the only memory she could recall was of the dream and an hour ago when her Teacher had told her of the owner of the symbol - Tethrin Veralde, a minor power among the Seldarine, patron of bladesingers and swordsmanship. _The Shining One and Master of Blades._

 _Do you not know of him?_ The blacksmith had quizzed her, genuinely surprised at the young elf's ignorance of her People's faith. For growing up in the care of humans at Candlekeep, she was surrounded by the worship of Ohgma and Deneir by the most of the Avowed, or Mystra and Azuth by the arcane practitioners, or Lathander, Ilmater, and Tymora by the laborers and other residents. It may seem odd that her foster father never tried to convert her to any of the human deities. However, now that she thought more of it, such was consistent with his principle of freedom of will.

Every now and then, she did utter a quick prayer to them. A plea to Ohgma for when she needed a solution to Brother Karan's problem sums during lessons – much were at stake in getting them correctly, namely a piece of sweet for each correct answer.

A thanks to Mystra for not giving her a shred of arcane talent – sparing her from what could have been years and perhaps even centuries of endless lessons with stuffy stodgy mages.

And a praise to Lathander for the sunrise because it was another morning, _another breakfast_.

Even the elven merchants had been private about their devotions, merely telling her of the Seldarine's benevolence and how each of them had their areas of power and influence; that perhaps one day, Irse herself would heed a call from one of them.

How had her Teacher known of one of the elven pantheon? Okami told her of a day when Ilphas commissioned him to replace the skeins in their wagon. The blacksmith, unsurprisingly, had taken notice of the elf's silvery blade and had praised its make. Of differing races yet sharing a common preference for weapons, the two had fallen into an easy conversation.

Irse smirked. _Men and their swords._

Unsurprisingly, Ilphas had boasted of the bladesingers, legendary swordsmen of their People, skilled in both magic and blade. He himself had not the calling for the profession, one that would have taken decades if not centuries of mastery; nevertheless, he revered their patron.

On the night of the bandit attack, Okami had found the medallion in Ilphas' hand, a pendant bored through with a leather cord, perhaps held as a final prayer as he and his wife lay dying of their injuries. Okami had saved it from the funeral pyre, meaning to give it to Irse, thinking she was their daughter but had forgotten when she had confirmed otherwise. Only then last night as she herself had slipped into delirium did he remember and dared to petition the god on her behalf.

"We were worried," Nells said as she sat down next to the young elf.

"I should have listened to you. Maybe if I had waited instead."

"Don't feel bad about it. Everything always turns out for the best."

"Even praying to a god of another people?"

The first mate held out an open palm and she obliged. Nells inspected the medallion, raising an eyebrow at an uncleaned spot of blood. Irse scratched her nose. Could have been Ilphas' or hers.

"Some say he's a god of healing as well" the half-elf supposed.

"I can imagine why. Him being the patron of swordsmen, he'd have to deal with accidental stabbings all the time."

"Then it's fortunate that Mister Okami knew of him," the first mate chuckled and returned the pendant. "It's rare though not unheard of for N'Tel'Quess to petition the Seldarine. This reminds me of a story my father used to tell when I was a child, many years ago."

As the tale went, an archaeologist from Hillsfar traveled into Cormanthor on an expedition to study abandoned elven ruins in the forest. Despite being human, he was keen on learning more of the ancient empire of Cormanthyr, going as far as to procure a wardstone to protect him from any fey magic guarding the sacred sites, even taking his young daughter along in the hopes of kindling in her a fledgling interest in his studies. Unfortunately, the pair of woodsmen they hired to guide them through the forest had other interests in mind.

After days of arduous trekking and finding merely broken standing stones and no great treasure, the men had argued over payment, trading words which eventually became blows. The archaeologist had struck and unintentionally killed one of the guides, and he in turn was cut down by the other in retaliation.

Fearing for her life, his daughter fled deeper into the forest, pursued by the man who would not have wanted a living witness to his deed. In desperation though unknowing of who to pray to, she called on whoever was the god of the elven woods. True enough, her earnest plea was heard for the very forest itself came to life to help her.

"Trees walked and fought for her, like men?" Irse asked with wonder.

"Not treants. _Greenwarders_. Shrubs enchanted by elves before most of them retreated to Evermeet, tasked to guard the borders of the woods and sacred places within Cormanthor. Made of nothing more than branches and twigs, however these creatures stand and walk upright as their elf masters," Nells clarified.

A terrific windstorm had surged through the forest and shook the boughs of every tree, the greenwarders rising from the very undergrowth. By their own bizarre forms and fey magic, the creatures fended off the pursuer who was seized and dragged away in the jaws of a great bear that roared and came out of the trees, his fate gruesome and certain.

The greenwarders escorted her until they reached Elventree unmolested, where she was warmly received. There she learned from the priests that it was Rillifane Ralathil, guardian of elven woodlands, who had come to her aid. Out of gratitude, she vowed to serve the _Leaflord_ all of her days, becoming a ranger and protector of the forest, settling at Elventree, even taking an elf for a mate.

"You see, that child was my grandmother," Nells concluded with pride. "And human she may be in this life, I know I will see her again in Arvandor."

The first mate squeezed the girl's shoulder and got up to join the rest of the crew surveying the boat for damages.

Irse exhaled with relief, gladdened by the tale and grateful that her Teacher was in no danger of being struck by a lightning bolt for blasphemy.

 _Thank you, Lord of Swords and Stabbity People._ The young elf whispered and grinned cheekily. _For keeping her from croaking prematurely._

She pressed the medallion to her collarbone. _Most of all, for heeding her Teacher's plea._

Of course she was happy to be up and breathing about, yet oddly, she felt more grateful that one of the Seldarine had cared to listen to someone not of The People to help someone who didn't even know them but should have.

She cast her eyes at where Okami and the crew were preoccupied with patching up the hull as best as they could. Likewise, the former slaves were busy taking out whatever valuables and equipment that could be salvaged from the boat while the children played hand games among themselves. Meanwhile, gagged and roped against a nearby tree, the slaver watched the idyll in front of him with bored disinterest.

Though mostly intact, the vessel was beached on the sand bank. Their best hope for getting it adrift on its own was months away when the autumn rains would come and raise the Chionthar's waters enough to float the ship. The only other option would be less of a wait but more costly – hire a barge in Berdusk to come in and tow the boat all the way to the dry dock for repairs. Not to mention taking on at least a days' worth of travel on foot to reach the town.

Midday meal was prepared and served by the older girls. Everyone sat on the grass, spirits vastly improved by the summer sun and the breeze wafting through the river. As hungry mouths eagerly slurped the hot stew, Shar-Teel announced her intention to pack up and set off for Berdusk right after their meal.

"Already? Could we wait, maybe a day more, Captain?" Irse suggested.

Shar-Teel glared at the young elf, clearly finding the idea unreasonable.

"You look well enough now to chow down an entire horse on your own," the woman sneered, then unexpectedly sniggered. "No offense, but… whatever, I don't care."

Irse pursed her lips, wracking her mind for a reply. Okami stepped in.

"The wounds have healed of their own accord, but to force her to march too soon might undo what miracle the Seldarine had done upon her," he said. His voice carried no accusation, nonetheless the captain scowled defensively while the first mate fidgeted and looked away.

"Noodle-stick's right," Dotie piped up.

Everyone looked at the dwarf, surprised at the unexpected agreeableness. Their combined stares made the half-duergar uncomfortable, but she squared her jaw and huffed, "We can be usin' one more day t' give the hull one more look-over 'cause our soddin' repairman be a bit too good at wreckin' our boat!"

Okami smiled and nodded at the dwarf who looked flustered at the acknowledgment of her helping.

"Fine! If you want to dally some more that much, we're setting off tomorrow first thing after breakfast. Anyone who wants to stay beyond that can go sard themselves with the mast," Shar-Teel conceded.

Irse raised the bowl to her lips, concealing a relieved grin.

* * *

Nighttime came and everyone had retired early for tomorrow's trek.

There were many things to be grateful for, chief among them now was that the ground was not as solid as rock-hewn floor, ideal for quietly dragging a metal spade across a good distance. She had come this path only once before, but Irse knew she would never forget the way for the rest of her life. It wasn't long before she found the cross-marks on the trees and eventually the body in the clearing.

But one thing to _not_ be grateful for was the inborn heightened senses which amplified everything she wished she didn't have to be aware of at that moment – the overpowering odor of day-old rot, erasing all memory of the perfumed oil Safana had doused upon herself; the bloody and torn handiwork of wolves and carrion birds which could not be hidden from her sight even by the dim light from the moon only halfway to waxing to its full face. Irse steeled herself for the task.

 _How does one dig a shallow grave?_ And she had forgotten to take a blanket with her to cover the body. At least the unfortunate sparrows at the Keep that didn't survive the cold of winter were buried with their own shrouds – Imoen would gather scraps of fabric to swaddle them in while Irse shoveled at the earth beside the trees at the orchard. Then a few words and sometimes a skin of water for imagined wine poured over the tiny pile of pebbles to toast the feathered dead. Solemn but only for pretend.

 _Not this time._ Irse grinned ruefully.

The elf walked around the Calishite, measuring with the span of the tool at how long and wide the hole would need to be. It would be like how she used to form a vegetable plot, as one of the laborers had taught her. Except this instance, she was putting something beneath the ground instead of above. Right beside the body, Irse marked the soil. She raised the spade, straining at the effort.

"Allow me to help," Okami said, stepping out of the shadows and himself carrying another of the tool.

She lowered the spade, unsurprised that he had followed her.

"I have to. I can't let father see this," Irse mumbled, attempting to reason with him and herself, coughing deliberately to banish the imagined disappointment in Gorion's face and maintain the calm in her own voice.

"He is not here to condemn. Even if he were present now, I am certain he would not," the blacksmith said.

With his strength and their combined labors, the hole was burrowed out faster than she could have done by herself. Using the spades, they rolled the body over to the open pit, quickly covering with the dug-up earth.

Master and student stood at the foot of the grave, leaning upon their spades to rest.

"What was it like?" Irse asked. "Your _first time_?"

"I was younger than you are now when I first took the life of another man."

"How could you have been a soldier at that age?" she questioned. At the very least, the Watchers wouldn't take in youths younger than seventeen.

"Without any family, my childhood was spent as a servant to the caretakers of a shrine. I had thought it my life's path to follow the priests until the local lord required tribute of able men for his army. Not wanting to surrender their sole and youngest acolyte, I was given instead. Through five springs I served as bearer of water and hewer of wood, apprentice to the smiths who forged the weapons, learning the way of the sword until they sent me to my first battle."

He added pensively, "To be forthright, I have no recollection of the first man that I had slain, as to cut down each foe in my path had been the only reigning thought. But then, I remember clearly the moment when I finally ceased."

Okami straightened himself and cast his gaze at the sky. "It had begun to rain. That moment I thought not of yesterday neither of tomorrow. Only aware and feeling the rain soaking through my armor, the stench of blood everywhere, the weight of the sword in my hand, my own breath burning in my chest, and the silence of the departed around me. I realized then that I was not dead, but _alive_."

Irse raised her head and pondered, likewise remembering the stillness, the color, the feel of the world when she too lay in that clearing. _The present and the infinite._

"Perhaps, the lesson for you is not the acceptance of your own death," Okami said as he reached over and took the spade from her hands.

"But to accept the death of another."

Irse turned her eyes to him as he walked away. In the dim moonlight he seemed a ghost, a pale specter fading into the night. Then she likewise left the clearing and followed him back to the ship.

* * *

 _Not a few scribblings here:_

Yes, horse oil for the face is a _thing._ Just thought it not too far off that Calishites would have wanted to use every part of their precious Calimites when no longer fit to go "war-horsing". Though in our own realms, Hokkaido is the one best known for horse oil instead.

" _Are you my mother_ " was a nod to my favorite line in A Song of Ice and Fire series where the character Beric Dondarrion, having been resurrected several times but losing more of his memories in each instance, had asked the very manly brawl-mongering priest who revived him, "Are you my mother, Thoros?"

Ah-ah, I know it looked like we pulled a _Seldarine Ex Machina_ , but without a healer in the group it seemed doubtful that even a Bhaalspawn would survive blood loss and sepsis from a ruptured intestine. Unless they're Abdel Adrian who has troll-like regenerative abilities. ;P

Why Tethrin? Reasons… Elven Reasons! XD

And the River Arc's conclusion in the next chapter. Pinkie promise.


	16. Noon in the Vale (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, again a thousand apologies as I had sworn this was the final chapter of the River Arc, but then words tend to sprout more misadventures. ^^

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 16 : Noon in the Vale**

* * *

It took another whole day of trekking despite the early head start. Deprived for so long, the captives had not the vigor one expected from youth and often asked to rest every now and then; but to carry each of the little ones along the way would have been impractical as well. They ended up camping by the river for another night, rising before dawn in the hopes of reaching Berdusk before noon.

While they waited for the children as they broke their fast on the last of the bread and for the captain and first mate to decide on what to do upon arriving at the city, Irse sat down on a large unearthed tree root and took out Safana's diary. Quietly, she thumbed through the pages and skimmed over the writing.

"What's that?"

One of the children, Gita, had planted herself beside the elf, sneaking a peek at the pages then looking up at her expectantly.

"Eh, nothing interesting. Only lists, more lists. A few sums added up, listed again. She liked lists a lot." Irse closed the journal and wondered if she had seen the child's name among them, shuddering at the thought of a price inked next to it.

"Whoa, that mean you read an' count sums? How'd you learn?" Gita whispered in awe. The girl sounded as if only a couple of summers short of Imoen's age, but her stunted height and wiry frame made her seem much younger, sadly betraying lack during her growing years.

"I was taught by monks," the elf replied. "Because I used to live by a huge library."

"What's a library?"

Irse paused, oddly unsure of how to describe a world she had known her whole life.

"It's a great and vast place… full of books," she began slowly.

"Books…," Gita echoed, eyes glazing, seemingly picturing something she wasn't accustomed to having. The other children had begun to gather around them, curious and hushed.

"Like these," Irse held out the diary, showing it to them. "But thicker, bound in gilded leather, with pretty pictures in all colors inside them."

"Pictures?" one of the girls piped up, face brightening.

"Uh-huh, pictures. Drawn by master illuminators, pictures of castles, kings and queens, magical beasts like dragons and unicorns, all to tell tales of epic adventures of heroes and how they saved kingdoms from evil men and monsters."

Though of course, a whole lot of them, the ones dumped on her for studies, were mostly boring histories of cities and empires with their litanies of heads of states and their successors, long-winded florid poetry about flowers and romance – which made her roll her eyes in rhythm with the measured verses, and sleep-inducing treatises on a bunch of old codgers' opinions on what someone already dead a long time ago had said about something somewhere sometime. At least, Brother Karan's books on herbalism had sketches of plants and their leafy stalky innards.

And so the elf told them briefly instead of the stories and fables she had read, of a cunning and clever spider that lived in the jungles of Chult who always tricked and outsmarted all the other animals there; of a boy in the eastern lands who was born out of a giant peach and had a dog and a monkey and a pheasant for his friends and how they went on a grand and dangerous adventure in an island of ogres; and that there were more of these tales, all simply from the pages of books.

As the children listened with rapt attention, for a moment transported to another realm and another time, Irse looked at their faces and felt a prick in her heart. In a brief flash of memory, the grass became a bed with rumpled covers, the trees and sky above now wooden beams and stone walls, the handful of children now only a pair - a younger elf and an auburn-haired human girl. And in her place, the tale teller, an old man in the gray robes of a sage, his weathered face beaming as he paused the story at a gripping cliffhanger and gently reminded them that it was time for sleep despite the duet of protests.

"What happened to your ear?" one of the girls suddenly asked.

The elf froze in mid-tale, grinding her jaw and scrambling for a suitable answer – one that wouldn't traumatize young minds that have already gone through much.

"A book chomped on it."

A buzz of surprise rippled among the children. "A book did _that_? You're fibbin'," one of them said as not a few eyes narrowed skeptically at her.

"It's true. Not only monks, but wizards lived there too," Irse composed. "So not only do they have books on everything, they got books on magic as well… yes! Magical books."

"One afternoon, I was sleepy from my meal that I dozed off in the middle of my reading. 'Course I'm at the table and not in my bed, so I piled a book or two and made a pillow out of it," Irse narrated, justified that the account wasn't entirely untrue.

"But little did I know that I had picked a magical book by mistake. It was an odd one, a _bestiary_ – a book about monsters, but it had a soft and furry cover and I thought it would make a great pillow," she described in low tones, canting her head sideways and laying her cheek against the journal.

"But as soon as I laid my head upon it and started snoozing, then… _rawr_!" Irse cried, in one swift move, opened the diary and clapped its pages shut on her left ear, pretending a struggle and mimicking the sounds of a growling dog biting on her ear.

The girls squealed in amusement, except for Gita who appeared upset. "Did it hurt?" she asked worriedly.

The elf halted, then grinned reassuringly. "No, of course not. That's because its teeth were, er… _magical_. So it didn't hurt, and it didn't bleed at all. Except now, I'm just half an ear on one side."

Irse straightened herself authoritatively as she wagged an admonishing finger. "Moral of the story, kids – don't ever sleep on a book. Magical or not, it's not nice to drool on them."

Gita exhaled in relief at the answer as the others murmured in understanding at the lesson. Another girl sneaked up next to Irse and reached out to poke at the ear, but the elf sensed the attempt and swiftly rounded on her, then teasingly snapped the journal on her hand as if it were the monster book. The child jumped back, giggling. The elf continued to wag the diary at the children as it were a yapping critter, relishing the tiny peals of laughter.

Irse spied her Teacher standing not far from them and watching, a thoughtful expression on his face. She grinned at him in greeting and he replied with a nod and a faint smile.

"Storytime over, arse-dragging-to-Berdusk-time _now_ ," Shar-Teel yelled at them, clapping her hands as if calling at dumb beasts.

Everyone got to their feet and scrambled over to the captain and waiting crew. Okami herded the laggard ones but remained where he stood. Irse rose from her place and gathered her pack, jogging towards the rest of the group.

"We expect to reach the city before noonday," the blacksmith said as the elf fell into pace beside him.

"In time for some _real_ lunch," Irse added brightly, then pouted at her Teacher.

"No more stale fish stew and mystery meat, please?"

"No more," Okami promised, brows furrowed at the remembrance of the pale fare at the Gate.

"On my honor."

* * *

The sun was almost overhead when they arrived at Berdusk, a city high-walled in stone like Baldur's Gate. But unlike the former, Berdusk boasted of three great bridges across the Chionthar, two of which spanned through a small island in the middle of the river. High-sided waybarges ferried goods and passengers up- and downstream, some eventually turning left to what Nells pointed out was the Clearspring which bisected the City.

One of these bridges ended at the bank and continued as a wide avenue to the most westerly gate in which they were to enter. Travelers, mostly merchants with wagons or simple peddlers with sacks on their backs if not on mules, passed through unquestioned but under the watchful eyes of the city guard.

Their group approached one of the sentries.

"We want to see whoever's in charge. And make it a Harper," Shar-Teel demanded.

The guard, a man in leather jerkin and a simple navy-blue tabard, eyed them. "An odd lot of merchants you be. One of your members is bound and gagged, and you and the man," he said, pointing at Okami. "… are armed. State your business here and we will decide if your concerns are worthy of an audience with one."

"A slaver and freed slaves," Shar-Teel said, tilting her head towards their prisoner and the girls.

The guards exchanged glances. One of them barked at another to send word ahead, and they were led to a row of benches by the gate walls and told to sit. Somehow, the gesture seemed more to keep them in line than for their comfort.

An hour waved by, of waiting, fidgeting, and Nells anxiously pacifying an increasingly impatient and itchy Shar-Teel. Finally they were approached by two city guards, a man and a woman, who beckoned to the group to follow.

"Come with us. If your intentions are true then you have nothing to fear, but if not…," the male guard began but Shar-Teel cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah. Been marching my feet down to bloody stumps all day and I got my damned boat banked and leaking out there, so spare me the sardin' spiel and just take us to them _Harpies_!"

" _Harpers_ ," the man corrected curtly but was answered only with an offended snort from the captain and an apologetic chuckle from the first mate.

The rest of the group filed behind the male guard while the female guard walked beside them. They marched away from the gate and straight through a wide cobbled boulevard flanked on both sides by tall stone buildings with steeply shingled roofing; built so close to one another that they resembled giant gray-robed wizards and their pointy hats, huddled together and observing the comings and goings of little ants.

The busy morning crowd were comprised of strolling residents – marked by their lack of packs of trading wares and weapons, as well as peddlers, merchant wagons, and a scattering of groups of what seemed like adventurers judging from their garb and arms.

Remembering her last experience in a great city, Irse hugged her pack tightly against her chest and cast wary looks at either side. The woman guard must have noticed for she put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Be at ease, elf. We secure these streets as best as we can. Our ruler, The High Lady Cylyria Dragonbreast, values the safety and freedom of all within these walls, be they great or small folk, merchant noble or the humblest peddler."

Irse bobbed her head in acknowledgment and relaxed her hold on the pack. With worry banished from her mind, she saw for herself proof of the woman's words – a lone guard or a pair patrolling among the crowds every now and then. She wondered too if the knowledge that Harpers were likely mingling and concealed among the common folk helped in some way.

Laughter erupted ahead of them as a minstrel, broadcasted by his colorful patched cape and a lute under his arm, traded jokes with a matronly aproned shopkeeper. As they passed by, the minstrel suddenly cut through their small procession.

"Pardon my intrusion," he drawled, sounding almost inebriated. Bowing with a flourish in time with his step, he doffed his cap and winked at Irse.

She looked at him, a middle-aged blond half-elf, and caught a glimpse of the brooch on his lapel, a copy of what her foster father sometimes kept on his desk. An engraving of a harp and a crescent moon. _A Harper._ Well then, perhaps _not so hidden_ after all, she mused as she watched him stagger away to be swallowed up by the crowd.

After several blocks, they stopped in front of an austere structure with low towers. Both guards motioned for them to stay put as each one rapped on the steel door and announced their names in clear and loud voices. Irse noted the exaggerated singsong inflection and tone in their manner. A moment passed and the door opened of its own accord. They were escorted inside, the woman guard leading the way with the man bringing up the rear. Through dimly lit unadorned corridors they walked in silence. Her elfin eyes could make out the faintly shimmering symbols every few feet in the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. G _lyphs,_ powerful magical wards similar to the ones guarding the Great Library, particularly in the inner sanctums where the most rare and precious of manuscripts were stored.

Eventually the group was ushered into an office as sparse and grim as the façade. In one corner, sat a clerk, a bespectacled gnome perched upon a highchair by a lectern, pen on hand and an open logbook before him. By the wall and another steel door, a woman in chain mail stood waiting behind a low oaken desk, flanked by a hooded man in mage robes the color of sunset and trimmed with silver. Both wore the Harper pin on their lapels.

"Shieldmaster Remed Ioscon," the female guard announced as she and her companion saluted the woman officer.

"Master E-," the male guard continued but without looking up, the wizard raised a hand to silence him.

Missing no beat, both guards still gave their salutes wordlessly.

"These people requested an audience with you to inform on the capture of a slaver and the rescue of his captives, which they have brought with them," the male guard reported and gestured to the bound mercenary and the girls.

At first glance, the officer reminded Irse of Gorion. Curly salt-and-pepper hair yet cropped in practical fashion, a petite olive-skinned woman yet standing high and proud despite her age. But unlike the quiet life her foster father now led among books and scrolls, the demands of maintaining order in a city of unremitting trade did not afford Remed Ioscon the luxury of a welcoming smile for visitors. Clearly a hardened lady stood before them, whom one mustn't foolishly ask to indulge in foolishness. Irse hoped the captain would be pleasant for once lest they find themselves at the other side of a jail door.

To her relief, and probably Nells' as well, Shar-Teel seemed to respect the Shieldmaster, perhaps sensing a fellow tough nut, for the captain squared her jaw and gave a curt nod at the other woman.

The officer's eyes remained trained on their guests, a hawk searching for weakness in its prey. Beside her, the hooded wizard languidly examined his fingernails, mostly obscured by the voluminous sleeves, as if indifferent to the gravity of the meeting.

"I would know the truth from your own lips," the Shieldmaster addressed them directly. "Give an account of all and alter nothing, for my _superior_ here will see through any falsehoods," she added, a slight turn of the head to indicate the mage.

The young elf raised a surprised brow. Someone older and outranking the graying Shieldmaster? This wizard must be ancient, perhaps like Candlekeep's First Reader, the wise and kindly old Tethoril.

The man pulled back his hood, revealing instead a somber faced yet handsome dark-haired human youth. Irse felt an oddness about him, one she couldn't quite put a finger on. He raised his head to cast a disinterested glance at them, then resumed inspection of his digits.

Then quickly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes darted to Irse and without breaking his mask of reserve, _winked_ at her.

Startled, the young elf finally recognized him as the half-elf minstrel who crossed their path earlier. And yet now, a youthful human wizard? _What manner of people are these Harpers?_

"Proceed with your account," the Shieldmaster commanded.

Both the captain and first mate retold the events - the chance meeting with Safana at the tavern where the Calishite had presented herself as a trader seeking to hire a ship and a crew to Iriaebor. In hindsight of course, they knew they should have asked for details and questioned the need for a geas, but desperation over unpaid mortgage on the boat and a considerable upfront payment had them agreeing immediately to the job, merely assuming that the woman was planning to transport rare luxury goods or confidential documents, hence the need for secrecy and magical insurance.

Then of the slaves being picked up between Scornubel and Berdusk, Okami's plan to sabotage the hull to force them to dock in the city, Shar-Teel's decision to sacrifice her ship and run them aground, of Safana and her men except for one slain in confrontation, though mercifully they left out exactly how the ringleader herself died, ending with their arrival at the city.

Throughout the report, Irse observed the young man beside the officer. Evidently using a spell to detect whether they were lying or not, the mage listened with eyes closed, his lips silently intoning.

 _Truth. Truth, and hmmm… truth._

She wondered if Gorion ever had to use such magic on her, but then remembered him only listening to his foster child with his eyes open and grave, as if he listened not to her words but to the heart behind them.

"They have spoken with verity. Every word is true," the young wizard testified in a bored monotone, a complete opposite from his earlier demeanor out in the street.

Remed Ioscon acknowledged his authentication with a nod. "Given our unrelenting efforts to purge the realms of this filth, I am not surprised that these slaving scum have taken to roping law-abiding citizens into their schemes in an attempt to feign legitimacy and avoid suspicion," the Shieldmaster remarked acidly. "But what other tangible evidence do you have that will be of use to us?"

Shar-Teel stamped her foot in irritation, one hand raised in a fist, impatience getting the better of her. "Damn it! Isn't what we said already enough? And that man there, you can question however you want, _painfully_ you should, and you think those girls will lie about their capture just for the hells of it?"

"We gave you everything we know, and your fellow proved we didn't lie," Nells pleaded.

The officer remained unfazed; her face hard like flint. "On your testimony that man will face the justice he deserves, the women and children will be succored. We may question this one, scour his mind until all his soul is scraped and left bare. Yet experience has taught us that dispensable pawns will know of nothing more than the last hand that paid them their gold."

"But to truly make a dent on slavery, we must know who the instigators are, their networks, particularly those with connections to corrupt authorities so that when we strike a blow, it will be at the very root that it may save more lives and prevent the future ruin of others."

The Shieldmaster spoke with the bitterness of one who has dealt with more than what their crew have laid at the Harpers' doorstep now. How many slaves had she and her cohorts freed through the years, yet how many more wretched souls have remained out of reach forever?

"Now you understand why we must know more."

Shar-Teel and Nells fell silent. Irse waited a moment then raised a timid hand.

"We may have something," she offered, pulling the journal out of her pack and holding it up for them to see. "Safana's diary. It has lists, names. Some of the words I don't recognize as Common, maybe Calishite?"

The Shieldmaster pointed at the table and the young elf laid it before them. The mage stepped forward and placed a palm on the journal, closing his eyes once more, then opening and turning the pages, running his fingers across the parchment, finally closing the book and leaving it upon the table.

"I saw the face of she who sold these living souls. The elf is correct - listed are the numbers, some names, and categories of the slaves, their prices as well. This Safana has a contact here in our city - a man of Westgate... with only a code name, obviously, but the woman spared no expense with her low opinion of his uncomely appearance and his penchant for frequenting a tankard house of cheap and questionable taste."

Irse smirked; indeed, that was Safana in those pages. But then she frowned and wondered if the woman likewise wrote down her assessment of the crew. _And of her Teacher!_ The gods better be a dollop more merciful had she known how to read in Calishite.

Never mind the elf though, for Irse knew that any entries on her would have read more like a grocery wishlist of organ components.

"But in the tongue of Alzhedo of Calimshan, she wrote of another whom she serves, the true master pulling at the chains, named only as _P._ in all the pages where this person was mentioned," the mage continued his recitation, gaze averted as if reading from memory.

Irse scowled, not in disbelief, but in envy. She could have been interested in the arcane arts and how easy her studies would have been if her foster father had told her of this spell that allows one to speed read through books and remember them word-for-word.

"In all of the pages… except one," he added. "The woman was careless and had written his name in full, to record their first meeting. A minor member of Amnian nobility but one who makes his nest in Calimport."

Remed Ioscon crossed her arms and bowed her head in deep thought at hearing the information. A few seconds and she exhaled as she addressed the mage.

"It disturbs me that there is a rat brazen enough to hide under our noses," she said.

The mage replied, unperturbed. "It should not be difficult to flush out this contact of hers. He was extensively described, more like _derided_ , and we have the name of the tankard house, even the days when he is to appear and wait for her if they cannot sail straight to Iriaebor."

"But the operator of this slave ring is based in Calimport, as you have read?"

"Calimport. Quite a distance from here," the young wizard confirmed. An impish smile suddenly broke upon his face, completely dispelling the somber mask.

"But... I know exactly _who_ to send, who would be more than _eager_ to pay him a _visit_." The words were said with undisguised relish.

The Shieldmaster chuckled, but the rare display of mirth had a hint of brutality. " _Them_ , of course. By the gods, I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Should we warn him?" she teased.

"A chance for him to cooperate, reconsider his ways, salvage his reputation and wealth, and live the rest of his days in peace and comfort?" the mage pondered, lips pursed.

"But to deprive _her_ of the satisfaction of destroying a lowlife such as this is to invite fire upon our own heads. I think not."

Remed Ioscon ordered the gnomish clerk to wrap up and signaled to the male guard to approach and receive further instruction on the prisoner and freed slaves. The young mage picked up the journal from the desk, moving to stand closer to the Shieldmaster as he further examined the diary.

The gnome addressed the group, "Per protocol, we are to obtain your full names as part of the record of your testimony. Rest assured they will remain confidential and will not be shared with other parties, unless for the greater good of the realms."

"You first, captain."

"Shar-Teel...," the woman said but paused before adding. "Beancheart."

The first mate glanced at her friend.

"I'll be damned in the nine hells twice if ever I take that bastard pig's name," Shar-Teel reasoned fiercely.

Nells shrugged and leaned over the lectern. "Cannelle d'Ecorce," she said to the gnome.

Dotie followed. "Dorchallan Duillim."

"Munechika Okami," the blacksmith said. "Pardon me, but what is the official custom in the Heartlands? Which of our names must be announced first?" he inquired.

The gnome raised a brow with the air of one who has encountered more than his fair share of atypical naming conventions.

"Your given name, then the name of your family or your house, your clan, brood, species, wing-type, most importantly – _root crop preferences_."

"Then it is Okami Munechika," her Teacher corrected himself.

"And... _daikon radish,_ " he said in compliance, to which the gnome appeared approving.

As the crew gave their names and waited for the clerk to finish his painstaking scrawlings with many a correction and a rewrite, Irse realized that she herself had never used a surname. For of what use was a name for oneself when one had always expected to live their whole life behind the Keep's walls? Nevertheless, it didn't seem right to use Gorion's surname, _Adrian_ , for herself, as she wasn't his trueborn daughter.

Heroes of the tales introduced themselves as _Sir So-and-So_ of the _Kingdom of Here-and-There_ ; were they not a band of such for this deed? What harm was there to finally indulge in a little fantasy?

"And your name, elf?" the gnome finally asked her.

"Irsellian," she answered with enthusiasm. "Of Candlekeep."

" _Candlekeep_?" the wizard interjected, pausing from leafing through the diary and slightly raising his head to look at Irse.

" _You_ are from Candlekeep?"

Though his tone was one of mild curiosity, the eyes leveled at the young elf were that of an invested interrogator.

 _Fool-popping ninnyhammer!_ Eyes widened in realization at the grievously careless mistake, Irse inwardly screamed at herself, resisting the urge to smack her head on the desk.

How could she have forgotten that her foster father was a former Harper, that they were in a city full of Harpers - a bunch of them probably even his best mates, and that he might have already sent word to a feared and dangerous organization of spies to keep a lookout for her!

"Ah... I was... were," she stammered, panicked, clutching at the collar of her tunic, eyes darting to the door.

"What is the matter, girl?" Remed Ioscon had likewise turned her attention to the young elf, frowning.

The gnomish clerk put down his pen and stared while captain and first mate, who both knew she was a runaway, remained tight-lipped.

"Yeah, what's the soddin' matter with ye?" Dotie joined in.

Okami cleared his throat and faced the Harpers. "We beg your understanding. She never knew her parents and was under the care of elf merchants. They were slain by bandits along the Coast Way near Candlekeep."

Then the blacksmith looked to her _. A gamble then._

Irse breathed in deeply and straightened herself. "Near Candlekeep, it's true. In honor of those who took me in and treated me as their own. That way, I'll never forget," she declared, her gaze meeting the wizard's.

If he could likewise read into thoughts and see not only the face of Ilphas and Tannyl, but more so the face of Gorion and those who had shown kindness to her in the home she had left behind, then so be it. At the very least, she had spoken no lie.

For one breathless eternity, the mage stared at her.

Then he narrowed his eyes and mouthed silently with a quirk of his lips.

 _Truth._

Irse felt her shoulders drop in relief. The wizard now looked away and this time seemed more engrossed with the discussion on the prisoner and freed captives.

"Oh, just put in _Irsellian_ , sir. I don't have any other name," she told the clerk, scrunching her shoulders and sheepishly peering over the lectern.

The gnome shrugged and scribbled on his logbook. When he was done, he produced two parchments, stamped and sealed the letters and handed them to Shar-Teel.

"As to the rewards for your deed, present this letter to the Office of the Coinmaster. The other, to the proprietor of the inn of _The Sign of the Silver Sword_ to accommodate you and your crew, compliments of the City of Berdusk."

"About time," the captain groused, taking the letters from the clerk, then seemed to remember something very important for she rapped a knuckle on the lectern.

"Hold on a sardin' minute. What about my ship? I traded a livelihood for those lives," Shar-Teel said.

The Shieldmaster nodded at the clerk who pulled out another parchment, hastily scribbled a paragraph, stamped and sealed the document.

"This one you must present to the Harbormaster. Request from him any aid you need on the matter."

The captain grunted her satisfaction as she took the third letter.

The officer dismissed the guard who proceeded to usher the prisoner and the freed slaves to the other door. As they filed into the exit, the children waved at Irse, and she waved back.

"What will happen to them? Will they be all right?" the young elf asked aloud.

"They will be returned to their families. If orphans, the temples will take them," the female guard assured her.

The Shieldmaster raised a hand towards the door. "Captain Shar-Teel and crew, the City of Berdusk and the Harpers express their thanks," she pronounced. They were being dismissed as well.

Shar-Teel faced the Shieldmaster, brushing the tip of her temple with her forefinger in a mock salute. Captain and crew moved on to follow the female guard who beckoned at them. Irse was almost at the door when she heard Remed Ioscon address the other Harper.

"Master _Entillis_ , I appreciate your assistance with the interrogation, despite the short notice."

"You are always welcome. Anything for an... _old friend._ "

Tugged by an unseen thread, Irse turned to look one last time at the strange wizard. Their eyes met and he winked at her again.

In one moment, not with eyes but with unexplained _knowing,_ she saw not a dark-haired boy, but silver tresses and an ageless face. _An elf._

Irse blinked but he was once again what he was before.

And then she passed through the door.

* * *

And a handful of scribblings here. :

Kudos to TripleF for correctly guessing a few chapters ago on how Baron Ployer and his slave ring was discovered by the Harpers! :D

Bean cheart = woman, in Irish

Cannelle d'Ecorce = cinnamon bark, in French (yes, I get my names from tea bag ingredients.)

Dorcha = dark, in Scottish

Spot the random Harry Potter reference! ;)

The truth spell is a nod to the interrogation scene with the elves of Suldanessellar in SoA, a clue of sorts to the true identity of Entillis Fulsom. ;)

The story of the trickster spider from Chult is a nod to the West African folktales of Anansi the Spider, while the story of the boy from a peach is a nod to the Japanese tale of Momotaro the Peach Boy.


	17. Where the Streets Have Names (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may your sailings bring you to places wondrous and friendly.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 17 : Where the Streets Have Names**

* * *

"That was… speedy and efficient," Nells remarked as they stepped out of the dim coolness of the Harbormaster's Office and into the warm afternoon sunlight.

Shar-Teel grunted in grudging agreement, a mix of surprise and disappointment that the whole process of requesting for free towing and repairs didn't require any threats and sword wagging on her part.

All it took was for them to show the Harpers' letter at the front desk. No further questions asked, the matter approved on the spot, and the group told to return at any time they wish for the barge and manpower that was already reserved for their use. With the captain itching to get back to her ship, the plan was to stay only one night in the city and then set out the following day to retrieve the boat.

 _The following day. Tomorrow._ It would then be time to part ways with the crew for she and her Teacher must continue with their journey to Iriaebor. Irse sighed wistfully as they descended the stone steps from the red brick and timber building.

They walked away from the Harbormaster's Office and through the rest of the busy port by the Clearspring - a smaller river rising out of a rocky crag north of the city, cutting through the middle of Berdusk and emptying down into the Chionthar. Docks were instead built in this waterway as a stable haven for the ships, away from the treacherous rapids in this part of the great river.

"Now to get our reward. Where the hells is this coin place again?" Shar-Teel asked. Though having docked at Berdusk many times, the crew had yet to get entangled with the city's public services.

"The woman guard did say it's in the High Lady's Castle on Castle Hill. Along the same street we took from the gate," Irse checked.

"Steelsword Street from Bellowbar's Gate, yes," Nells confirmed. "So called after Berdusk's first innkeeper, Billiebong Bellowbar."

"Oh, that's nice. Is it because he put up his inn next to the gate and was always the first to welcome traveling folks with warmth and kindness?" Irse asked, tone suspiciously bright and eager.

"And with meals, like _lunch_?" she added with an edge, eyes narrowed and leveled reprovingly at everyone else in case they have already forgotten the most important thing in the world.

The first mate replied, "No, it's because he died horribly in a fire when his inn was burned down by an angry wizard who wanted an upgrade on his room which the innkeeper refused. The gate was named after him to remind everyone that disputes on trade and services must be settled in a civilized manner. That, or they're taken to the Trademaster who they say is more iron-fisted than the Shieldmasters themselves."

"Oh," the elf murmured, subdued.

They returned to the same road and walked northwards to Castle Hill. Berdusk's seat of government was indeed a citadel on a great knoll, the slopes dotted with trees, a wide paved road leading up to the High Lady's Castle. But it was a fortress rather than a palatial mansion for out of its plain walls and gates streamed city guards, uniformed clerks, and petitioners. They strode past more of the narrow high-towered houses close to the hill's boundary and the elf noted the houses now clean and whitewashed, the crowd appearing better dressed and unburdened here.

"Soft-bellied play-pretties," Shar-Teel spat with disgust as a noble couple jeweled and clad in samite and velvet walked past and cast disapproving looks at their plain-dressed group. "Thinking they're all better with their rotting gashes and pus-drippin' pricks underneath their fancy silks and hoses."

"A sack o' cloyin' pansies actin' like ne'er with their fingers dirty. But we know where they be stickin' em up all's the same," Dotie echoed with equal scorn.

As the two women continued with their exceedingly loud assessment of the perfumed people around them, the other two cringed in embarrassment and nodded their apologies at the other passersby. Okami merely kept his eyes trained ahead and maintained his peace.

* * *

Shar-Teel exclaimed an expletive too specific and aimed at the man parts of male authorities upon seeing the enormous line leading to the claims desk of the Coinmaster of Berdusk. Rows and rows of all manner of folk stood one after the other, snaking around the room, segregated by velvet cords and low brass stands. The air buzzed with conversation and complaint, talk of trade and coin, all there to make all manner of claims on the public treasurer for all manner of services rendered to the City.

The first mate sighed. "This could take us all afternoon. Perhaps if we return early tomorrow."

But the captain was having none of it. "The hells be freezin' my arse if I don't get my damned due right now," she muttered. "Dividers aren't as high. We step over 'til we get up front. Any grousers, I'll elbow in the face."

Dotie nodded with grim approval at the mission while Nells cast nervous glances around them.

"We are… _cutting in line?_ " Okami uttered in slow shock.

Everyone turned to the blacksmith. He stood staring at them, wide-eyed, frowning, uncomprehending of the plan.

"Got a problem with that?" Shar-Teel challenged.

Okami's jaw was clenched, his hands usually still, now twitching. Irse noted her Teacher tensing, pale even.

A former soldier, perhaps so averse to the thought of disrupting order, forgoing discipline, and disobeying instructions from authorities to adhere to the queue and await their appointed turn.

A principled warrior unfitted to bear shame from the reproach of the soon-to-be-offended.

A minor act but of grievous disgrace, enough to dishonor even the family cow down to the calf of the fourth generation. If he had a family and a cow.

Irse wouldn't be surprised if her Teacher broke out in hives and started convulsing right then and there.

"Maybe both of us should go outside for some fresh air," she offered. "Easier if there's fewer of you to cut in between folks."

Shar-Teel waved a dismissive hand and Irse shuffled and pushed the blacksmith away and out the door. Behind them, the rest of the crew commenced with their quest to jump queue.

Over the rising din of the people protesting at having been unceremoniously shoved out of the way, Shar-Teel hollered, "Yeah, yeah, comin' through. We've been here all morning. Got a letter from the Harper bigwigs. Outta' the way! I got a leakin' sinkin' boat out there, little ones in the cargo hold about to drown! Do _you_ want 'em to drown, huh? _Punks!_ "

Irse rolled her eyes. _By "little ones", she meant the rats._

Master and apprentice stumbled out of the office and into the equally busy foyer, where city guards and their decorated superiors marched past merchants and noble folk deep in conversation while other petitioners stood or milled about.

"My thanks," Okami breathed, the relief evident in his tone.

The elf grinned in return. Both fell into an easy silence, observing the crowd. Not long after, captain and the rest of the crew stepped out of the Coinmaster's Office.

" _Penny-pinching prickfaces_ ," Shar-Teel roared, startling a pair of mousy clerks waiting by the door.

The first mate cheerily countered, "It's not as if we expect to become wealthy merchant barons overnight; still the reward was rather substantial. That we got free assistance from the Harbormaster and a stay in one of the best inns in the city is already quite generous of them."

"Could've been more for _my_ troubles," the captain grouched. "Guess we better hit up all the taverns here early if we're spendin' all that gold but leaving at first light tomorrow," Shar-Teel pondered with uncommon seriousness.

"Perhaps it's best if we also put aside most of the gold for the mortgage on the boat," Nells reminded her friend.

"Uh, yeah. That too," Shar-Teel mumbled in annoyed and reluctant agreement.

As they walked down Castle Hill, past the houses of noble folk at the boundary and into the more commerce-oriented district, Nells laid out plans for the rest of the reward. "We'll use the gold to purchase supplies and merchandise to sell at the Gate. We turn in a profit then we have more than enough for capital at the next trading season."

"Oh, but where to go first? We can head to the woolen mills by the Vale Gate. Summer shearing season and maybe even the auctions are already done but there's always unsold bales we can catch at a markdown; hold on to them in time to sell come fall and winter. Then off to Amberside market close by for spices, or even household ironmongery. Maybe some hitches and clasps. I saw new designs at the Gate before we left," Nells fired off, eyes growing manic with excitement at the prospect of purchasing wares for trade.

"You can buy the whole sardin' town if you want but how are we taking it to the Gate without my ship, huh? Repairs are gonna take days, weeks even, should the idiots put wagon wheels instead of boards to patch it up," Shar-Teel griped, snorting at the sight of a passing cart filled with wagon wheels in front of a shop of wagon wheels, one among the same in an entire block of wagon wheel stores.

"I know that. But we can consign our goods with other traders or hire a barge ourselves while we wait," Nells said, oblivious to the cramped expression on the other woman's face.

"So which of them is the better thing to do?" Irse asked, then wondered why Dotie glared at her while Shar-Teel seemed on the verge of a violent headache.

"A good question," Nells replied, beaming at the rare display of interest from another sentient being.

Explaining with equal parts fevered excitement and scholarly enthusiasm, she expounded on each option, outlining the advantages and drawbacks, profit margin computations. Not only that but depending on the arrangement, there were regulations governing such transactions yet a source of frustration for traders and transporters of goods everywhere since rules and fees and penalties differed in every port; Calimport being the most notorious for changing them without due notice. And then she went on with how perhaps the Gate could bring in more trade and make it easier for merchants if they standardized their rules and fees and minimized bureaucracy and irregularities and...

"Fascinating," Okami remarked in earnest, even as the other three members' eyes were glazing over.

"Where to next?" Irse piped up, hoping that the answer was _to_ _lunch._

Fortunately, _Blackpost's Bench_ , a tankard house, wasn't too far and just along the same street. The group slipped inside and found the place near empty – not surprising since it was almost the second hour after noon. The interior was much like a simple inn's common room with its unadorned stone walls, low-ceiled with chandeliers repurposed from wagon wheels and bearing candles presently unlit, rough wooden tables and benches everywhere, and a raised platform which served as a makeshift stage for performing bards.

Irse's stomach rumbled at the savory aroma of quail roasting on spits over an open hearth. They were led by a halfling man to their seats while a half-orc lass deftly slid mugs of minted water cross the table and in front of them. As Nells counted out coin from her purse, the halfling informed them that the price per head was at two coppers.

"Per head? Not per plate?" Nells inquired as if surprised at some change.

The halfling man replied, "You heard right. 'Tis always slow business in the afternoon. We lure in a few more guests if we charge two coppers per patron instead of per plate as is customary. But only between the second bell and dusk or right before supper."

Nells nodded her understanding and the server left. "It seems we can have seconds or even more for the price of one. Usually it's even three coppers per head if there's a troubadour performing, but the house is quiet during these hours," she told Irse, pointing at the empty stage, apparently noting the expectant look on the girl's face.

"That's all right. We get visiting bards at Candlekeep too, every now and then," Irse said.

Only that all songs that may be performed at Winthrop's inn have to be pre-approved; no bawdy low-brow ditties, just standard fare ballads and epic chants suitable for the sensitive and discerning tastes of the scholarly and noble clientele.

Though that didn't stop Winthrop from singing along with his own waggish version of the words which often got Irse and Imoen suddenly laughing out loud in the middle of a serious concert; earning them another rebuke from Brother Nador for being such uncultured cretins.

Not too long, they were served crusty brown trenchers some parts blackened, bowls of rewarmed thin vegetable broth plain and without trimmings but generously garnished with parsley though the elf noted that the herbs were wilted and still in their stems, cut-up parts of fowl now cold from having been roasted earlier that day, and seared bacon and pork sausages both of whom were more fat than meat and swimming in runny peppered gravy.

Given the hour, their fare were clearly leftovers from the earlier busy lunch crowd.

Ravenous, Irse wolfed down her portions, not bothering to break the bread apart, slice the meat, and spoon the broth; instead opting to slurp the soup straight from the bowl, one hand stuffing her face with food while the other worked to reach over at the serving chargers and simultaneously restock her own plate.

Nells chuckled at the sight while Shar-Teel ignored everyone else, brooding and nursing her first and already overdue mug of beer for the day.

Dotie gaped, tankard of mead at her lips, pinky raised. "I dinnae think one o' ye poncy pointy-ears can be a draggle at eatin'," the dwarf mumbled, amazed.

"Take heed with the fork lest you puncture yourself," Okami cautioned his apprentice as he sipped his tea.

"This is the _happiest day of my life_ ," Irse declared, half-chewed bread muffling her words but euphoric, exultantly wagging a forked limp sausage, crumbs on chin, greasy slip of bacon dangling at the corner of her mouth and waving at the waitstaff to serve another round of food.

And another, and another, and another. And another after those.

There were more after that, but within the hour, the waitstaff suddenly announced that all meals and service must be put on hold due to a kitchen shutdown.

 _Why would a kitchen shut down unless the realms were about to go out in a fiery end_ , Irse arrogated.

 _To prepare the ingredients and ovens and hearths for the dinner crowd_ , the staff explained.

 _But dinner was still hours from now and is it not that a place so used to feeding so many should be working constantly and never have to run out of supplies,_ Irse pushed further, recalling the efficiency and ever-readiness of the Keep's own kitchens.

"And what about the quails roasting over there? Are you cooking the birds until they sprout feathers again and fly away while still on their spits?" Irse demanded, refusing to budge and yield her knife and plate.

But the half-orc serving girl seemed about ready to crumple the metal tray in her fully orcish hands that everyone else had then wisely decided to haul the elf up from her seat and push her out of the door themselves.

The crew finally left the tankard house, though Irse was still unconvinced. After that was a long walk to their inn, _The Sign of the Silver Sword_ , but a necessary one for them to secure rooms for the night and leave their things behind, allowing them to go about their business unburdened.

The inn was quite large and well-built, surprisingly outclassing the one in Candlekeep with its sophisticated furniture, and the interior illuminated by globes of magelights set in intricate brass sconces and chandeliers. Wall-to-floor-to-ceiling lush carpeting deadened the noise from outside, dampening their normal conversation to almost whispers.

"Bet I can still make it echo in here," Irse dared the dwarf as they stood back, waiting for the others to make reservations at the front desk.

" _Shaddup_. I'd rather tear out the whole soddin' rug an' stuff 'em in my ears than hear one more babbling from yer flappers," Dotie growled.

The young elf cupped her mouth as if to shout towards a hallway, yet whispering audibly, " _Dotie Likes 'Em Hunky- Dandy_!"

Dotie stomped her foot but the carpet muffled all the indignation out of it.

"I dinnae!" she hissed then looked around, searching. "Now where be the echo you say?"

Irse shushed her, then slipped behind the dwarf and partly covered her mouth as she repeated, voice feigning a fading echo, "Dotie… Dotie… hunky-dandy… hunky-dandy…"

"By Marthammor Duin, ye be right… echoes," Dotie buzzed with awe. But then she looked up and noticed the elf sniggering behind her sleeve.

"Ye wily rascal! Ye thinkin' yer so canny! I oughtta' smash yer pointy skull on them plushy floors," the dwarf raged but was interrupted by a bop on her head.

"Hey! Do your skull-smashing outside. I'm not paying to clean anyone's brains out of these fancy rugs," Shar-Teel barked as she tossed them their keys, telling them likewise not to dally at locking up their belongings and to meet again at the lobby.

To Irse's delight, each were given their own rooms; no sharing with anyone, even if only for one night. The lodgings were just as tasteful as the lobby. Quiet, carpeted, a canopied bed, a mahogany writing desk with an upholstered chair, a washing stand, and instead of a chamber pot in a corner…

The elf slid an oaken panel at the wall to reveal a private garderobe! With a mechanical waterflush contraption, just like what a group of Lantanese gnomish inventors visiting the Keep once told her about! No having to leave the room in the dead of night to relieve oneself or empty the chamber pot at the common privy.

She tossed her pack on the bed and jumped in, appreciating the goose down featherbed, imagining herself on the clouds she would watch drifting past the moon as she sat on the tower roof back at the Keep.

The elf smoshed her face in the pillow, murmuring with happiness at its softness and plumpness.

A long way from the simple and bare comforts of home, she mused.

 _Such were the rewards for being heroes! One could get used to this._

* * *

 _Fireworks tonight by the Clearspring Tor,_ read the flyer in Irse's hand. It had been passed out by a town crier and she had asked the group if they could check it out after supper. The captain grudgingly agreed, only after Dotie added that peddlers at the park also sold alcohol there without limit.

"Sure, we can go tonight after we're done with our procurements. We could even have dinner there, like a picnic in the grass," Nells said with a smile.

Shar-Teel put a hand on Nells' shoulder. "Look here, I trust you anyways. Get anything you want but save some coin for later, maybe for a tavern or three."

"You're… you're not coming with me?"

"As captain of this crew, it's my job to… _Whatever!_ I order you to take Dotie with you," Shar-Teel declared with abrupt and suspect gruff cheer, shoving the dwarf at the first mate.

" _Clanggedin's clap-crusted beard!_ " Dotie cussed in surprise at being volunteered.

"What about Mister Okami and Irse?"

"Eh, them? Why, I'm chaperoning these two sops around the city. What kinda' captain am I if I let anything happen to our _paying_ passengers?" Shar-Teel grabbed the blacksmith and the elf, wounding her muscled arms tight around each.

"Aren't we supposed to be helping her? And I thought we didn't have to pay anymore since Teacher beat you at the - _hnnnnggg_ ," Irse blurted out before wincing at a hard and painful squeeze on the shoulder.

Nells pursed her lips for a moment then shrugged. "Oh well, I don't need extra hands since we could have the merchandise delivered straight to the docks and any time we wish. And besides, they've worked hard the whole time and helped us so much; they do deserve a break," the first mate agreed.

"What 'bout me? Ye think I be idlin' on the boat like some loiter-sack the whole soddin' time?" Dotie grumbled.

"Now, now, Dotie. You heard the captain and it's best we start right away."

"Aye, let us be done with it so I can be gettin' m'self a grog sooner?"

"Of course not. We start now, this way we have more hours to look around and more things to _buy_!"

Nells grabbed Dotie by the wrist, cheerfully waving as she dragged the dwarf away like a mother taking a petulant child to the market.

"See you all at Clearspring Tor for dinner," she reminded them.

Dotie glanced back and shot them a look that screamed _– help me you soddin' fools._

The others waved at the dwarf in sympathy.

"So! Seems like I'm stuck with you two," Shar-Teel drawled, arms still draped around them.

Okami beamed indulgently at his apprentice and the captain. "If we have no other purpose or errands at the moment, then we may use this time to see more of the city before we leave on the morrow," he suggested.

Irse rubbed her chin as she thought of the possibilities. "Maybe a peek into the shops, see if there's anything interesting?" she chanced, hoping that _interesting_ for Shar-Teel would be wide enough to cover anything other than a drink and a tavern.

Shar-Teel ground her jaw and considered the proposal. "Yeah sure, hells why not." She knuckled Okami's cheek and buzzed in his ear.

"Hey, this town's got a couple of festhalls. Coin'll get ya a drink and a lady – or a boy if you want; hole's a hole. Or you can gimme me your drink since you don't seem to be living on anything other than water anyways."

 _A festhall!_ The young elf's eyes widened. An entire life spent behind the walls and by a library doesn't mean one doesn't hear about such places!

Irse glared at the captain for daring to suggest such a thing to her Teacher. Shar-Teel raised a bored eyebrow at the young elf and whispered to Okami who looked somewhat flummoxed.

"But you might wanna ditch _granny_ over here, or she's gonna cramp our style," she needled.

"Har har," Irse muttered dryly.

With the city itself being too much to cover in one day alone, it was decided then that they would only explore the shops nearest their inn and along the route leading to Amberside.

As they strolled along, the captain brushed by the elf. Irse felt a small pouch pressed into her hand. She looked down and recognized it as the slaver guard's but somewhat weightier now with perhaps a couple of gold coins thrown in.

She glanced at Shar-Teel. The captain made a quick nod and then distanced herself once more. Irse grinned and put the money in her pocket, content with the discreet show of thanks.

A hero's reward, and all of them still in one piece, all well and good. The young elf breathed in, relieved, content yet excited.

There was a city out there to explore.

And this time, Irse vowed, she would stay by her Teacher's side and out of trouble.

* * *

… and then there were more scribblings :

Hangry Girl is a class kit similar to Berserker. Only more dangerous. A rampaging ravaging ravenous stomach that no longer knows friend from foe from food. Take ye heed.


	18. Sundry Shores (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may your sailings bring you to waters most wondrous and friendly.

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* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 18 : Sundry Shores**

* * *

The trio found themselves in a large but crammed store, the painted wooden sign announcing the place as the famed _Alamather's by the Water Unusual and Unique Weapons_.

A peculiar one indeed, for actual weapons accounted for less than a quarter of the display. Typical fighting equipment hung upon one wall, though ornately stylized and seeming more suited for show, but the other three walls held things found instead in the kitchen, a library, and a lady's purse. It wasn't long before Irse realized the reason for the odd assortment as other shoppers examined telescopes from which long and narrow blades sprung out of the lenses, goblets whose handles released tiny spikes, velvet lady gloves with concealed silver claws among a host of other innocuously unassuming but dangerously trapped items.

"Now _this_ is more like it!" Shar-Teel whooped, hefting a multi-tailed whip, a _cat o' nine tails_ so says on the tag, with tips ornamented by miniature iron sharks and anchors – dubiously purposed for nautical aesthetics.

The whip had sat on top of a pile flagged by a sign that said _Birthday Gift Suggestions_.

Blacksmith and apprentice unanimously coughed their dry disapproval of the captain's seemingly forgetting that such whips are tools of the outlawed slave trade and that they themselves had only recently helped in stopping a slave ring unit.

"Fine! Like I can't do better with chewed-up rope and a fish bone," Shar-Teel grumbled and put it down.

As expected though, other weapons stores were filled with standard fare sharp and pointy things. Okami merely glanced at the displays, on occasion inquiring with the shopkeeper on the quality of the materials among other matters. Matters that smiths would know and Irse was genuinely interested in, if only she could listen to their talk undisturbed and ignore the growling in her stomach.

"You just ate a couple hours ago!" Shar-Teel scolded, clearly not needing elven ears to hear the low but lengthy rumbling.

"I can't help it. I'm a growing elf. And how could you call those crumbs _lunch_ anyway?" Irse replied, sulking.

The stomach croaked in solid agreement.

* * *

Upon the lintel of the shop door and on a large marble sign carved to resemble an unfurling scroll were the words _Ondraer's Fine Pages Bookseller_ in fine calligraphy. Inside could only be described as a paradise for scribes and scholars.

Wall-to-wall shelves of books groaned under the weight of a dizzying array of titles as if a section of the Great Library had been hauled out of the vaults to see the light of day. Bound volumes on everything from histories, to theses on magic, to plain chapbooks on the latest bardic tales filled the shelves and swamped the display tables.

An inner door lead into another room for the sale of scribing supplies, this one filled with unused tomes, reams of parchment, piles of scrolls, boxes of writing implements, even leather cases for the traveling scholar.

The place buzzed with activity – mages poring over blank spellbooks, clerics inspecting new scrolls, limners testing out pigments and brushes on framed vellum, cartographers unfurling wider and longer sample parchments, as shop assistants attended to their queries while cutting up lengths of silk for bookmarks or mixing inks in glass pots.

Irse glanced around, wondering if there was anything in this store that she could get for her foster father.

Perhaps a blank journal with gilt edges, or a brass-tipped quill pen. She sauntered over to the display tables to read over the price list printed in gold ink. But one look and a quick mental sum of the costs against the coin in her pocket, the elf turned around and sheepishly walked away.

 _Nope_. There was nothing in this store that she could get for her foster father.

About to call her companions and tell them of her plan to leave, but then her eyes fell upon a strange display case at the far end of the room. Though the place was well-illuminated by chandeliers of magelights, the glass box remained unnaturally dark within. She waved at the others and pointed, then approached it. Through the dimness, one could make out a large tome resting within, the length of a man's arm and the width of half of one.

"Unless that dumb book's got pages made of gold, I don't care for it," Shar-Teel dismissed.

Irse pressed her nose against the glass, straining to get a better look. "But it could be an ancient spellbook from a great wizard or even a book of secrets with a puzzle and a hidden treasure map. Why else is it so big and put behind a glass box?"

"Clearly, it is of great value to be protected by wards and yet displayed to the world with pride," Okami observed, noticing the small glyphs within the case, shimmering at random intervals and hovering in the air above the tome.

"That be an accurate assessment, young man," said a balding portly old man who approached them, not too unlike Winthrop, yet in fine robes and a serious air. He gave them a quick formal bow and introduced himself.

"Ondraeas Ondraer, at your service." It was the shop owner himself.

"Here, allow me to show you the contents of this tome," he volunteered and tapped at the glass.

To their amazement, the glass box lit from within as the tome opened by itself. The pages flipped briskly with invisible hands, finally stopping at the middle. Irse peered then frowned.

"But it's empty. There's nothing written in it," she said, puzzled.

Ondraer guffawed. "Sharp eyes you have there, lass. Truly, there's nothing written in any of its pages."

"For it's not what's inside that matters, but what's on the _outside_ ," he confided to them in a low voice, a twinkle in his eye. He tapped at the glass once more and the tome closed shut by itself.

"Look again," he instructed.

When they finally did, they gasped at the sight, unable to suppress their admiration. The cover gleamed, deep crimson but not as treated leather of any animal. The surface pattern reminded Irse of snakeskin, having seen a few in Brother Karan's apothecary, already shed and ready to be powdered for various brews.

Indeed, much like snakeskin except larger, more solid, the edges overlapping like armor scales.

 _Scales._

" _This_ … this is _dragon scale_ ," Irse whispered in astonishment. "A tome bound in dragon skin."

Ondraer nodded in confirmation. They stared in amazed silence, comprehending the existence of such a thing before them.

But Shar-Teel broke the spell and huffed, "Huh, what a waste. Why not use it for body armor? Isn't that what _really good_ blacksmiths make?" She cast a fleering look at Okami who merely shrugged his shoulders with the usual indifference at her taunts.

Okami stared at the tome, frowning. "For it to be carved from the beast's hide must mean it was fully subdued and defeated. What manner of warriors would dare and even accomplish such a feat?"

"Not in the blades of adventurers did this red dragon meet its defeat, but in the bare hands of a lone wizard," Ondraer answered.

Irse's eyes broadened. "A wizard? All by himself? _"_

Tales indeed told of mages wielding magics so powerful they could stand alone and slay even great monsters and entire armies without shedding a single tuft of their beards or breaking a manicured nail. But those were just tales and if true, then only of the few chosen by the Goddess of Magic herself, or of those crossing the boundary of what is right and mortal to obtain their power from more sinister forces.

Rather than taking offense at the girl's disbelief, Ondraer chuckled. "I see what you mean. Verily this wizard is no Elminster nor Blackstaff. No warrior of course but neither one to wilt beneath the sun nor be blown away by a breeze. A scholar more habituated among books but still an adventurer of the world through and through. A man courageous and principled; for how else could he have risen in the Harper ranks?"

"A Harper," Okami echoed.

"Yes, but a humble man with the surprisingly frustrating habit of keeping silent about himself and his accomplishments."

Irse smirked. _Not too unlike someone back at home._

"His comrades speculated that he did it to rescue some noble lady or even a princess; isn't that why heroes of tales fought against dragons? But he never revealed the true reason why he ventured his life against such a mighty creature," Ondraer surmised.

"Then this wizard must be a friend of yours, I presume, for he gifted you with something as precious."

"That, and he said because I would know best what to do with it. Perhaps it was too big to fold into his pack, wherever he was going," the old man said with fondness. "I have not heard from him all these years though I'm certain he's retired somewhere quiet and more suited to his temperament."

Ondraer placed a hand against the glass panel. "And that's why I have this exhibited out here where all may see. To teach the world a valuable lesson."

 _A lesson._

" _That you can really judge a book by its cover!_ Eh?" Irse declared, a finger pointed up. Behind her, Shar-Teel groaned while Okami placed a hand on his mouth.

"Well, I was thinking along the lines of - _knowledge and wisdom are just as powerful as strength and might_ ," Ondraer mused, beaming. "But _that_ works just as fine, lass."

A shop assistant approached Ondraer, inquiring on something and showing him a logbook. The old man took one look at the open pages and waved him off.

"Now if you fine folk will excuse me; these old bones are needed to handle something these new bloods cannot. A pleasure speaking with the curious seekers, as always. Good day," he bid them with a kindly smile and left.

Irse watched him walk away, then laid both hands flat against the glass and peered at the tome once more _._

 _A wizard and a dragon._

Peered and impressed in her memory the sight of a proof of the impossible.

For after all, this was closest she will ever get to meeting a _real_ dragon.

* * *

If the world was a basket and the gods threw in every conceivable color, smell, sound, and feel, then tossed and mixed it all and sprinkled in spices with a bit more salt and vinegar than anyone cared for – then the realms would have been named Amberside instead of Toril.

Open-air and a jumbled maze of stalls, people, things, odors and noise. There was no order to the wares, for delicate bottles of oils and potions were arranged onto fragile piles in front of rainbow-hued tents, next to towering ox-drawn wagons filled with furniture, beside kiosks of common crops or exotic produce, crammed against stalls spewing savory smoke of varied food and drink, while carts brimming with ells of cloth darted in between shoppers.

Irse ducked into a tent which bore a cloth sign painted in carroty ink that screamed _Curios for the Curious_.

Inside was an amassment of… _things_.

Carry-tubes from cleaned out auroch horns, some opened bearing multi-colored powders or yellowing scrolls. Rusty jeweled daggers and arrow tips strewn amidst gilded snuff boxes, tiny skeletons resembling winged monkeys and stuffed dead creatures that seemed more like a patchwork doll of every farm animal but miniaturized. Skulls of varying sizes, some horned and some not, sat grinning next to helmets some holed and some dented, next to jars filled with murky liquid inside of which floated things that didn't seem too far removed from the specimens at the Keep's arcane laboratory.

"What brings one of the feyfolk to the kiosk of curiosities of Cirio the Curio Collector?" greeted a middle-aged hawk-nosed man with a scraggly goatee and a chipped gold tooth, draped in silk and a shawl of the same loud orange on the sign.

As the others followed inside, Irse bowed and rocked on the tips of her toes. "Good day, sir. Just looking around."

Cirio swept a heavily bangled arm across the air. "Feel free to browse my select sundries, see what you may find."

The elf went over each pile, each table, each hanging.

"Are these… _"_ Eyes widened as she peeked into a wooden bowl filled with seven…

" _Human teeth?_ "

The merchant gracefully swooped down and snatched the bowl from her, placing a hand upon it for fear of spilling the precious contents.

"Not just any teeth! But the seven wisdom teeth of _Szass Tam!_ "

"Szass Tam, the undead lord of Thay?" Okami asked, unbelieving. "A lich whose head, they say, is a fleshless skull?"

Cirio held up the wooden bowl. "Obviously, these were from when he was still human. What would a lich need teeth for when he has no need for food?"

"That's… sad," Irse sighed, unbelieving as well, but of the thought instead of life without food.

"That's a lot of wisdom teeth," Shar-Teel scoffed.

"Three on each side and one in the middle front. After all, he was a _special red snowflake_ in his human life," Cirio justified, shaking the wooden bowl once more, clearly delighted at the tiny tinkling within.

Three faces grimaced as soon as the merchant turned his back on them to replace the bowl among other knickknacks on the table.

Irse walked over to another desk and picked up a spool of white thread, somewhat relieved to find a normal object. "Oh, look. This is handy for stitching up things," she said.

 _Such as stab wounds and the resulting holes in the shirt._ "Yup, _very_ useful," she added.

In a flutter of robes and shawl, Cirio grabbed the spool from the elf. "Unless you are planning to sew a throw for Mystra's couch or string a magical bow carved from the most ancient oaks of Cormanthor only then you may use them for such purpose."

"Why? Oh, I know! These are the armpit hairs of a storm giant," Irse guessed with feigned wonder.

Cirio glared at her, offended. "You insinuate that I traffic in _repulsive merchandise?_ Useful for components, yes, but I will never again soil the air of my tent with a thing of such _colossal sourness!_ " The merchant cradled the spool in the palm of his hand with veneration.

"Don't you see, for these are none other than the hairs on the beard of the Great _Elminster_ himself!" he declared with pride and triumph.

Three mouths gaped.

"When he was ten years old."

Three pairs of eyes blinked then narrowed.

"I suppose, with that much magic coursing through one's veins…," Okami attempted to rationalize then stopped as Shar-Teel shot him a warning look to go no further.

Irse picked up a framed piece of black lace, the fragile filigree cloth sewn on the vellum. "Hey, this is pretty nice."

Again, the item was snatched from her hands. Cirio hugged the frame to himself, shaken.

"Keep your polluted mortal fingers away from this delicate prize! Do you have any idea what this is?" he spoke, wild-eyed and with frantic reverence.

"A piece of a queen's veil?"

"Not a paltry face cloth of some petty patrician, but a precious fragment of the enchanted lace knickers of _The Simbul!_ "

Irse opened her mouth, about to dispute how the Witch Queen of Aglarond, so famed and feared for her power and wild temper as told in rumors by young Seekers apprenticing in the arcane arts, would have been so generous as to part with one of her magical smallclothes.

But then the trio found themselves being pushed out of the tent.

"Forgive me, but you must return another day. I wish to spend a few moments alone with my, ah… _treasure!_ " Cirio apologized with skittish haste.

And with that, they were outside once more, tent flap shut behind them.

"Do we want to know…," Irse began.

"Hells no," Shar-Teel finished.

They wandered into the other stalls but lingering no longer than passing glances. Irse led the way, darting into each one for a quick look or question at the shopkeeper, then immediately walking out as if troubled.

Okami seemed to have noticed her unease. "You are seeking something?" he asked.

Irse scratched the back of her neck in embarrassed confession. For all the kindness that Gorion had done for her, surely, he deserved better than a plain useless rock, even if it had come from the very stars themselves. After all, the old sage has got _paperweights_ with more artistic virtue and history on his desk.

"I'm trying to look for something nice or useful that I could bring home to my father and friends. Father already has everything he could possibly need, and anything even better costs too much. Imoen, she still plays sometimes but she's growing so fast and I don't know if she'll like a dress or a trinket. Maybe a necklace? But what if they're too expensive?"

She pulled at her hair. "Ugh! I wish I have more gold to get them something truly great. I mean, maybe they're not expecting, but I just want to."

Okami nodded in seeming understanding. "We too have such a custom, _omiyage,_ wherein we gift our loved ones with the best of what we find from our travels whether abroad or the next village. It is thoughtful of you to remember them."

" _But a gift cannot be bought. It can only be given_."

He said nothing more and walked ahead. Irse paused, finally sighing in agreement and moving on.

* * *

"Ale! Ale from all over the realms!"

"You name it, we brew it!"

" _Sample before you swallow!_ "

The captain circled sharply and marched straight to the source of the siren call.

Blacksmith and apprentice glanced at each other before following in the woman's heels and into a stall selling craft brews.

"You got ale?" Shar-Teel barked at the merchant who took one look at his new customer, gulped nervously then nodded in the affirmative.

"And those samples, I don't have to pay coin?"

"Why yes, my good woman! You seem the fine sort who appreciates a finely crafted –," the stall owner replied but was cut short by the captain grabbing an empty tankard and slamming it on the table.

"Yeah, yeah! Craft my arse a good one! Now gimme a trial swig of each!"

"Of course! Of course!" the man agreed and hasted to serve.

"Try this one, madame. It's called Belbuck."

"The nine hells is it green?"

"The color is from the spearmint favored by the halflings…"

"So this is a halfling brew?"

"Yes, madame."

A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "I better not be growing hair on my feet and stuffing my face with potatoes from a second breakfast after this. Next!"

"Golden Sands, a lager light and effervescent from Calimshan…"

A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "Pah! This what sand tastes like? Or horse piss. Next!"

"Iriaeboran North, dark with a bitter aftertaste, also known as The Bite of the North Winds."

A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "More like The Bite of an Iriaeboran's Fart. Next!"

"Luiren's Best, a sweet and thick stout from the coast of Luiren, best paired with nut cheese."

A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "Do I look like some fancy-piss ponce who can't sip his wine without a sardin' shat of cheese? Next!"

"Shadowdark, a frothy brew from Shadowdale."

A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "You sure? Not canal water banished to the Shadow Realm? Next!"

They watched as Shar-Teel sampled one ale after another, demonstrating her impeccable taste and passionately sharing her objective opinion of each.

Irse and Okami shot each other a look of silent agreement and quietly backed off from the stall, turned around and started walking away, leaving the captain and the doomed ale merchant.

The pair reached the edge of the market, sitting by the side of a fountain to rest and wait out the remaining hours until sunset for then the group would be gathering at the Clearspring Tor, not too far from Amberside, for dinner and to watch the fireworks.

A peddler passed by, pushing a cart bearing a small cooker and cast-iron pot. He stopped beside them and fired off the stove, taking out his implements.

Her interest piqued; the elf got up to observe the man as he cooked the pastries. The vendor poured triangular loaves the size of a hand, straight into the pot of boiling oil. A few seconds of the pastry floating and deep-frying, then he scooped them with a small metal net, tossing a bit to shake off the oil before dumping them in a paper-lined wicker basket.

"Care for some _goldenstars_? Just a copper each," the peddler offered.

Irse smacked her lips, mesmerized by the crackle of frying oil, the pungent aroma, the golden glisten of the freshly made batch in front of her.

"Three, please!" Irse decided.

She handed the money and received a paper bag in return. The elf returned to their spot by the fountain and handed one goldenstar to her Teacher.

"Thank you," he said.

Munching on the pastry, she watched Okami as he meticulously unwrapped his share, amused at seeing him chew with the same utmost care he expended on every task under his hand. He was about to take another bite when Irse suddenly thrust the third piece at him.

"Do you want seconds?"

Okami blinked in surprise. "You are already done eating yours?"

"Yes… but if you _really_ want this last piece…"

"You may have it for yourself," he said and smiled indulgently. "I am content with just one."

Irse cheered and commenced devouring the last goldenstar. As she smacked on her fingers, the elf spotted a familiar face among the people, rushing through the streets in front of them.

A face that she didn't expect to see before her now.

On impulse, Irse leaped to her feet and dashed for the chase. Okami called after her but she merely glanced at him over the shoulder.

"I'll be back really quick!"

And in pursuit of another, she was caught by one more tide in a sea of souls.


	19. When Earth Reflects the Sky (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may all doors before you always open to faces friendly and fond.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 19 : When Earth Reflects the Sky**

* * *

" _Dotie?_ "

There was no mistaking the half-duergar's familiar mug among the sea of faces in the cobbled streets of Berdusk. Alone instead of with Nells or at the park where they were supposed to meet later, walking by herself and casting furtive glances over the shoulder could only mean one thing – the dwarf had ditched the first mate and succeeded in escaping the tedious task of trade shopping.

Probably heading for one of the taverns to gorge herself on grog and maybe even find a _boyfriend_ in the process!

Okami had called after her, but a quick word that she would be back in a jiffy was all Irse could afford. No time to explain.

 _Mustn't_ _lose the chance to blackmail and needle Dotie a good one._

But the press of people swelled between them for it was now the hour of closing of public bureaus, some shops and guild offices; though Irse pushed on, determined to catch up. About a block away, she found Dotie standing before a tavern whose sign claimed the place as _The Flourished Flagon._

 _Gotcha!_

She slipped behind a lamp post and peered around. From her vantage point, she saw the dwarf glance sideways once more before finally opening the door.

Rather than joy, a look of surprise flashed on Dotie's face, followed by alarm, her mouth gaping in an angry yet voiceless cry before darting inside with urgency.

 _What just happened? Is Dotie in some sort of trouble?_ Should she go back to her Teacher, then? But what if there was no time?

Her decision made, Irse ran across the street and weaved through passersby, finally reaching the tavern door herself. Lantern lights, fiddle music, boisterous laughter, and shattering of tankards being tossed all streamed through the windows. Her hand was already upon the latch when her eyes strayed to a poster nailed on the wood at level with her waist.

 _Humans and elves not allowed_ , it warned in a drunken scrawl _._

"Huh," Irse snorted. _Maybe they don't really mean it at all_ , she reasoned as she pushed the door open and went inside.

It led straight into the common room, the entire floor quite below street level, a series of brick steps leading down from the front door. From this perch, one could immediately look around the place.

"Dotie?" Irse called out but found no sign nor reply from her crewmate.

Louder this time she called out once more over the sea of people sitting down at the tables. Well, she had mistakenly thought everyone was sitting down. A lot of them were standing. On their not quite tall legs.

 _Dwarves. Gnomes. Halflings. All smallfolk and nary a tallfolk in sight._

Even the oil paintings on the walls – all crudely drawn portraits of the shorter races in various dramatic victorious pose and standing on the heads of bigger monsters slain. Dragons, beholders, or extra-large xvarts, among others.

And an occasional pile of defeated drow and elves beneath their feet, the latter made evil-looking by tacked on villainous twirly mustaches on their exaggeratedly effeminate faces. Irse cringed at the lubberly level of artistic license.

Merriment died down in deathly silence as all eyes turned to her.

The elf wore an awkward grin as she timidly shuffled past the tables. Everyone remained still, tankards at the lips, playing cards held in midair, turkey legs bitten down but not chewed. It was as if every living creature in the room had turned to stone but with moving eyes, accusingly following her around.

Three dwarven men barred her way, armored and helmed in leather and steel, wispy beards braided.

"Oh, hello there. Just need to find my friend. Didn't mean to disturb you, Sirs," she greeted.

" _Sirs?"_ the lead dwarf bellowed. In a gruff but unmistakably female voice.

Irse blinked several times. Now she knew why Dotie always had shaving nicks on her chin.

One of them, standing behind the lead dwarf, knuckled the latter on the shoulder. "Ho, Balfara! This leaf-ear thinks we all look alike."

"Shush it, Vigdis!" Balfara admonished her companion as she sized up the girl before her. "You have no business in this place, _elf_ ," she told Irse.

"I- I'm sorry. Like I said, I'm looking for my friend."

"Do it look like _you_ have a friend in _here?_ " Vigdis growled.

"But I saw her come in a while ago and-"

"Din't cha' hear what she said! Ya gots no stinkin' friend in here! Yer _knife_ - _ears_ are _dull_ this time, eh _tree-hugger!_ " jeered the third dwarf of the group

Laughter erupted around the room as a table of men dwarves cheered. "Good one, Zesil! You tell off that flower-reekin' tree-hugger!" one of them sneered.

Irse rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, elves hug trees, very funny," she muttered.

It had always escaped her why everyone and their mother thought it hilarious. There was nothing amusing about a person embracing rough and scratchy wood crawling with sap and ants. Unless you caused it on someone else. And then she remembered a prank and Brother Nador and a tree covered from branch to root with ants and a side serving of bees. _Now that one was funny._ Irse sniggered at the memory.

"Now, if you'll please just let me find my friend and I'll be on my way."

"Maybe we haven't made it clear what we think of your kind barging in unwelcome in our place," Balfara threatened. She trained her weapon at the young elf.

Irse's eyes traveled down to the dwarven axe in front of her, whistling admiringly at the intricate etchings upon the broad face, continuing all the way to the handle of polished oak.

"That's a nice axe," Irse praised, pointing down at the axe head. "Was it made by _elves?_ "

Throaty gasps emanated from the table next to them.

Rounded eyes bulged with ire beneath the helm. "You say my clan's treasured axe is of elven work? How dare you! This was forged by my great-great-great-great-grandfather with his own hands!"

"Really? Neat! Is he an _elf_ too? I don't see the resemblance but if he goes _that_ far back," Irse supposed innocently, hovering a palm in front of her at stomach level in a show of measuring the other woman's height.

Balfara shouted, "You insult my clan and my ancestor! I won't stand for any disrespect, especially from the likes of a _leaf-loving dew-kisser!_ "

The crowd to her left ooh-ed.

Irse stole a few impatient glances around the room. _Where in the realms is Dotie anyway?_

She turned her eyes back on the dwarven woman before her, remembering the respectful reverential ways with which Shar-Teel and Dotie had always addressed each other.

"Listen here, Miss Stunty-Dirt Fairy. I'd love to stay and comb the fleas off the half-shaved owl bear on your chin, but _you_ have more pressing _holes_ to _dig_ _up_ ," she began.

The crowd to her right aah-ed.

The elf bent her knees, cupped an ear, her voice taking on her best impression of Dotie's manner of speaking as she hollered, "'Cause ye gotta dig up yer greatest gran'pa fer he's now rollin' in his cave grave 'cause his greatest gran'daughter is a bearded lady goblin with pixie hands who wishes her pretty elven axe was half as ugly as her goat face. Ah, a wee minute, it be not yer face ya smooth cheeks, are ye puttin' yer trousers on the wrong end again?"

The tavern erupted in howls, mugs slamming on tables. But Balfara growled, clutched her weapon with both hands, shaking with terrible fury.

"Enough of this yammering! Let's settle this now, you and me. Maybe you'll learn not to mock one of the Deep Folk!" she roared.

Irse raised a hand in front of her. "Hey, we shouldn't fight, or the city guards will arrest us for scuffling in a tavern."

"The city guard? Hah! What do they care; so long as it doesn't spill over in the streets. You're mistaken if you think fights aren't permitted in this place!"

Irse grinned. "Oh, I was hoping there's a single pub in the realms that doesn't allow brawls at all, and that this would be it?" she ventured hopefully.

A halfling in one of the tables answered, "Well, there's _The_ _Running Stag_ at the corner of Steelsword. They don't let duels there anymore after a fight between two druids many years ago."

The elf scowled, puzzled. "Druids dueling? What would they be arguing about? Whose tree is woodier?"

"Dunno exactly what, something about ' _forest management_ ', big words for a big duel. Folks who were there talked of storms beneath the roof and earthquakes on the wood floor! Vines and fur flying everywhere, squirrel and chipmunk locked in mortal combat, angry devil mushrooms and vicious daffodils sprouting on every crack and corner! Ever seen a bear and a hippo-elephant hybrid duke it out?"

His companion butted in, "It wasn't a hippo-elephant you idiot, it was a _hierophant_ of Eldath!"

"Bah! Whatever! Sounds the same anyways. Either way, place was trashed worse than a horseradish patch after a stampede of satyrs soused on stout. So if you wants a place with no fights, then go to the Stag instead."

Irse bowed quickly. "Thanks for the suggestion. I think I'll go there now." But she was about to leave casually when the dwarven women barred her way again, weapons raised.

"Where do you think you're going, _elf_? We're not done with you yet."

Irse frowned and stepped back. She made to draw her bokken, not to fight but to be ready to defend herself, except...

 _She had left the wooden sword at the inn!_

"Wait! I don't have a weapon. Are you going to strike an unarmed opponent? That's dishonorable, isn't it?"

The crowd murmured in agreement and considered the dilemma.

One of the men dwarves asked, "But are ye one o' them fist-fightin', water-chuggin', inner-peace-mongerin' prats?"

"You mean, fighting monks?"

"Aye."

"Do I look like I can break a board with my bare hands?" _Please don't any of them say she can break a board with her bare face instead,_ the elf hoped.

"Nae."

"Because I'm not. I don't have a weapon on me now, so I'm not fighting any of you," Irse declared, hands outstretched, palms open in a gesture of peace and surrender.

"Here you go, then. This should do for you," the gnome bartender volunteered and helpfully placed a wooden staff upon Irse's open palms.

She glared at the stick now in her hands.

" _This is a mop!_ "

"Not just any mop, but a powerful enchanted mop made by elves in the fabled island kingdom of Evermeet, used for none other noble purpose than to swab the floors in the private loo of the elven king, Zaor Moonflower."

The gnome bartender scratched his nose in recollection. "At least that's what the curio seller in Amberside told me."

She made a wry face. "The curio seller? A man who dresses like a topless carrot?"

"That be him."

Irse blenched, tongue sticking out at the corner of the mouth. Hopefully they had the mind to wash the mop first; no telling for what _suspicious_ spills it had been used to clean up in Cirio's tent.

She wagged the mop and addressed the women. "I said, I don't want to fight any of you. Say what you will about me and elves but I'm leaving now."

"Don't ye give ear t' her. That's the knife-ear's way o' gettin' yer guard down!" Zesil yelled.

Balfara hefted her axe. "You're already armed, elf. You've wasted enough of our time! Prepare yourself!"

Irse was about to protest when the dwarf charged at her.

Lessons and instinct kicked in as she sidestepped from the first swing of the axe. Grinning with cheeky sureness, she evaded the second one, and another, and the next one, and the one after that, relishing the growls of frustration from the other.

"Stand still, you flighty rat," Balfara snarled.

Bad luck and overconfidence blundered in as the final stroke swept further than expected; Irse tripped and fell backwards. Balfara aimed down on the prone elf, but the latter rolled away from the axe as it smashed on the wooden planks of the floor. Irse dived straight for beneath the nearest table.

"Coward! Just like your kind! Don't hide from me!"

Beneath the long table, Irse crawled with as much speed as she could muster on all threes - mop still in hand, flinching as mucky boots on stubby legs of seated patrons brushed against her hair and back.

 _So this is what a roach feels like while fleeing from her slipper. Now if only she could fly like one._

"Dotie? Dotie? You here?" she called out, peering around her, if perhaps her crewmate had been hiding under the tables the whole time. _Darn it,_ she cursed silently, _has the dwarf turned mage and disappeared into thin air?_

She emerged from the other end, in time for Balfara to catch up. Irse ducked from another swing of the axe and caught sight of the front door not too far away. She turned tail and ran for the exit, snaking through the benches and tables. Patrons grabbed their precious tankards and rushed away from her path, a miracle that she didn't slip on the spilled drinks.

Only a few more tables stood between her and freedom. Then someone threw a chair. Irse dodged the flying furniture, glimpsing Zesil standing on a stool, arms still outstretched from having heaved the chair, face annoyed from having missed the elf.

Vigdis skidded right in front of Irse and swung a wooden club. It merely grazed at the hip but enough to hurt a bit and cause her to stumble. Zesil had already jumped down from her stool and was marching towards them, a felling axe in her hands. Balfara joined her companions and the dwarven women advanced against the elf, slowly as if waiting for the latter to make the first move and the first mistake.

Irse cautiously backed away, free hand running over the chair rests, ready to grab and throw one, just in case. They were pushing her back, leading her towards the center of the room, further from the front door. Her jaw ground in frustration as the mind desperately scrambled for a plan.

 _No other choice, then._ She raised the staff at _chudan_ , mop head inward. All three were about as tall as between her waist and chest. Irse remembered how Vigdis had swung her club low enough sideways to reach the hip and Balfara's axe arching high enough with the elf's face still within range. Adjustments might have to be made, she reminded herself, then lowered the mop to _gedan_ , low-guard.

At seeing the elf ready this time, all three launched themselves together, though in their eagerness, Vigdis and Zesil rushed past their leader and came up on Irse at the same time. The elf slid to her left and met Vigdis head-on, parrying to redirect the wooden club, stepping back and dodging a swing from Zesil. Vigdis pushed in between them readying to strike but before the club went down, Irse swiftly thrust the mop point at her torso as with a stab, the light leather armor absorbing only some of the impact, then smacked hard at the unprotected shoulder.

As Vigdis dropped to her knees, Zesil cried and charged. Irse leaped back, switched ends, pivoted and brought the mop down on Zesil's exposed arm, then a swipe at the helmed yet exposed face. Zesil fumbled, her scream muffled by the damp head smacking against her mouth.

"Ew," Irse mouthed, empathizing with her foe's apparent disgust, right before Balfara sprung at her, heaving the axe with all her might. She sidestepped away from the direct course and countered with an upswing, but the axe blade sliced clean through half of the mop handle.

Irse backed off and stared aghast at the broken staff in her hand. She swallowed an anxious lump in her throat. Nothing can be done now except to try and get close enough to strike with the halved stick.

From the corner of her vision came a flash weaving through the crowd and leaping from off a table, landing lightly on foot to stand between her and the women.

 _Teacher._

Okami drew his sword but lowered the blade at his side. Seeing the intruder in their womenfolk's fight, the men dwarves rose as one from their places. Weapons were drawn - axes, swords, flails, maces, and a halberd. They positioned themselves behind Balfara and her companions.

"We'll be surrounded," Irse whispered with dismay. What a way to go or be arrested by authorities – all because of a fight with a trio of angry dwarfettes and their supportive boyfriends.

"To our right are more halflings than dwarves. They might not stand in our way. On my word, run through them and do not stop until you are out of the door," Okami instructed with his typical calm.

"And you?"

"I will follow close and fend them off."

Irse inhaled sharply, knowing there was no point in arguing. "Right. I'm ready."

The dwarves inched forward. Okami lifted his sword at _kasumi_ , an odd stance to defend against shorter foes. Until Irse realized the blade tip pointing downward, perhaps to feign lack of a guard below but in readiness to block lower strikes or for faster stabs from above and through neck and shoulder plates.

"Now!"

Jarred from her thoughts, Irse breathed in first, about to make a run for it when an angry voice boomed above all.

" _By_ _Marthamor's maggoty mullet, stop, all o' ye!_ " Dotie cried, standing by the front door, surprise and alarm on her face and nicked stubbly chin. Frantic, she rushed down the steps and through the crowd, elbowing and shoving at those too slow to move out of her way until she reached the center of the room and planted herself between them and her folk.

 _Dotie! So she had already gone, but came back for them!_ Irse's heart sang with relief.

Astonishment spread on the faces of the stout folk, taken aback by the fierceness in her eyes.

"Ye be keepin' yer filthy ball-scratchin' hands off 'em!" Dotie warned.

"What's this? You'd choose a human and an elf over us?" Balfara questioned. "What are _they_ to you that you'd be a traitor to your people, _duergar_?"

Dotie glanced around the room, seemingly at a loss for words to answer the accusation. She fidgeted for a few moments but then straightened herself as she muttered, "Eh, what be that _F-_ word that humans be usin'?"

Dotie messily scratched her nose. "Hmmm. Aye, that be right. I be choosin' 'em, fer this man _,_ eh.. _this man…_ ," she declared as she pointed at Okami.

" _... this man now be my_ _Fiancé!_ "

Irse would have spewed every drink she had ever had her entire life so far, had her jaw not dropped to the ground first.

Okami's sword arm suddenly went limp.

And to the horror of all, Dotie wrapped her arms around Okami's waist, glaring proudly at everyone, daring anyone to dispute her declaration.

"What about the elf?" Vigdis asked with suspicious eyes, pointing her club.

Still clinging to her instantly betrothed, Dotie smirked and nudged her head towards Irse.

"Eh, _her?_ She be his ex-..."

"Ex- what?" Zesil echoed, extra-curious.

" _Ex-Mother-in-Law."_

 _What._

Irse made to charge at Dotie to wring the latter's neck, but Okami held her back with a raised hand.

"Calm yourself. She is only trying to help," he said, eyes narrowed, and lips quirked. "… _Mother._ "

"Well, she'd really better be helping, _"_ Irse replied through gritted teeth. "… _Son_."

Yet it seemed that Dotie's profession had tendered the hearts of all; evidenced by the mix of acceptance and nausea on the faces of her kinfolk. The men dwarves lowered their weapons as they murmured and nodded at each other.

"'Tis true, they say. _Love is blind like a buggerin' mole_ ," the dwarven men chorused among themselves.

Balfara scowled at Dotie, then at Irse, fists clenching and face clearly tensing from an inner struggle. The three dwarven women cast uneasy glances at one another before shaking their heads and putting away their own gear.

"It pains me to let go of this slight, but if you've taken this man for your own heart and the elf is somehow kin to him, then they're no strangers to us. We shall then leave you in peace," Balfara conceded with heaviness in her voice. She nodded at Dotie, then she and her companions walked away as the others likewise returned to their tables to resume their interrupted merriment.

Irse looked down at her feet. Broken mop still in her hand, she ran after her former foes.

"Wait," she said upon reaching them. Balfara and the others paused to regard her.

Irse bowed in genuine apology. "Please forgive me for insulting you. I had thought only my people could make fine weapons, but it turns out I was wrong. That's a wicked sharp axe you got there! Imagine if instead of wood, this had been an arm or even a neck," she gushed, holding up the mop.

At the young elf's words, Balfara's expression softened.

"Apology accepted," she said, chuckling. "Thanks to you, I now have a tale to tell my kin of how Vigdis and Zesil were made into bumbling fools, bested by a lone elf and her mop."

"Bah! It's not a fair fight. Ye had a magical mop," Vigdis complained.

"Aye, next time we're seein' if yer just as good with _only_ an ordinary _sword_!" Zesil challenged.

Irse scratched the back of her neck and laughed sheepishly. Once again and with more humility she bowed before them and they likewise bid her farewell with respectful nods, parting afterwards in peace and smiles.

Irse turned to the gnomish proprietor and handed back what's left of the borrowed weapon. "Sorry about your mop, Mister Bartender."

The gnome waved at her, unaffected. "Give it no mind, lass. I bought that one as part of a pair. Still have its partner - the one that was used to wipe the floor of the private loo of Evermeet's elven queen, Amlaruil Moonflower, as what the curio seller told me. Couldn't pass up a good bargain too, buy-one-take-one."

She made a wry face at the remembrance of the bizarre merchant and his weird wares. Okami called to her and she jogged over to them. Along the way she passed by tables of halflings and gnomes who cheered and raised their tankards at her; their adulation explained by the pile of coins being exchanged among them and tossed in by sulking disappointed dwarves. Irse grinned to herself.

 _To think that Master Ulraunt had said_ _her antics were unprofitable to her and everyone else._

Outside of the tavern, Irse realized something which disturbed her greatly. She turned to look at the _Flagon_ one last time.

"I never got to taste any of the food in there. Do you think it's better than at _Blackpost's?"_ she asked her companions as she turned back to look at them.

And noticed _another_ thing which disturbed her greatly.

"Hey, hey. Divorce isn't final yet. No one's allowed to paw him except his lawfully wedded wife," Irse snapped as she rushed over and pried Dotie from her Teacher's waist. The dwarf grumbled but yielded.

How the two managed to walk together like that without stumbling was testament to Okami's martial sense of balance. And gentlemanly politeness.

Freed, he coughed and continued ahead. They passed by a wooden sign that confirmed their direction towards Clearspring Tor and Irse fell back with Dotie.

"Thanks for coming back for us," she whispered down.

"What are ye mumblin' about?"

"I saw you near the fountain; you ditched Nells didn't you? Then you went in the tavern and it looked like you were in trouble. So, I followed you inside, but you were gone. Did you go out the back door? Did you know I was following you, that's why you went back?"

Dotie scowled in confusion. "Ye sayin' I went there. Then I left. Then I be goin' back fer ye?" Seeing the elf nod in the affirmative, the dwarf wagged her head.

"Nae. It be the only time I got there. Why'd ye think I be rattled when I got to the front door? Got free of that shop-crazy halfer fer some grog an' a good time. Then of all places an' in the one tavern fer my kinfolk, I find ye an' him in heaps o' trouble!"

"But I saw you go there before I went in. It was you, I can't be mistaken," Irse insisted, wondering now if this was all some trick. But the seriousness in Dotie's face was true and honest, even disturbed at the strangeness of Irse's claim.

"Right. Maybe it was someone else," Irse accepted in word, but not in mind. They both continued to walk in silence behind her Teacher. She absently dragged her feet, deep in thought.

Though her eyes had never failed her; it could have been none other, not even another dwarf with a slight resemblance. And the sky still had some light when she first saw Dotie in the crowd. Dotie and her unmistakable somewhat grayish pallor, gingery braided hair, wobbly gait. Even the partly healed nicks on her shaven chin. _Solid Dotie._

If it was truly her whom Irse had followed to the tavern, then it was as if she saw what the dwarf had been about to do _in the future._

She put a hand on her mouth, rubbing the palm across her lips in serious wonderment as she stared blankly ahead.

 _Was it truly possible?_ A quick recollection of a handful of strange instances at the Keep – such as whenever she bumped into someone at the same place she had already passed them by, yet the other person claiming they hadn't run into her previously.

Or that time she and Imoen were planning a new joke and of the ladder they were to use, she had found broken in pieces in a pile outside the shed, forcing them to abandon their schemes. Yet within the day, she witnessed one of the laborers climbing upon it, puzzled and sure it was the same ladder with the faded red paint. The rotten wood of the lowest steps had shattered beneath the weight of his foot. The ladder had then been torn apart lest it be used again and cause harm this time; the broken pieces left in a pile in the exact same arrangement where Irse had seen them earlier.

This, and a few more, like that odd sense of knowing as with that Harper wizard's true appearance, or the pull of the meteorites which led her to choose them blindly, or that feel of familiarity at the Gate despite never setting foot there.

Back at the Keep, she had told Brother Karan about these times. He had listened with patience yet discounted the possibility of the supernatural, suggesting instead that the physical occurrences could be coincidences and the unexplained sensations as repressed memories superimposing themselves as new or the present. Yet how could they be from the past when they were yet to happen?

And now, this happening with Dotie. There must be some explanation. It itched and gnawed at her; not the first time she had gotten in a pickle because of it. Whatever _it_ was.

Then a flicker of hope - what if both or one of her parents had similar visions too? Not unlikely, for it was said that children take on the traits of their sires. Perhaps her mother or father would have the answer, and the solution.

Heart stirred, she quickened her pace in hope and anticipation.

"Irse, that is not the way we are going," Okami called at her, his voice a little too far in her hearing.

She halted and turned around, realizing her thoughtless steps nearly took her in the opposite direction. Dotie and her Teacher stood a few paces away, staring at her; the former with a smug look on her face, and on Okami, a rare expression of displeasure.

 _Uh-oh, he seems miffed this time._

They continued to walk in silence until he sighed. Irritated.

"I am not your warden. It is not in my place to forbid you from going where you please."

 _Did he say that to her or for himself?_ Irse scrunched her shoulders and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"I thought I saw Dotie and followed her into that tavern, thought she might be in some trouble. 'Guess I was wrong, huh?" she admitted, looking up at him with a guilty grin.

Okami didn't answer, eyes keeping straight ahead though evidently disappointed.

"C'mon, they started it. I was even running away the whole time until they got me cornered," Irse argued.

"Do you think I'm using what you taught me to go looking for fights for no reason?"

He stopped walking. She circled and faced him.

"I'd _never_ do such a thing. And it's the truth," she said and raised her right hand.

"I swear, on whichever is the pointier sword in Lord Tethrin's holy belt. If I'm lying then may it take me, whether as a giant lightning bolt or the most freak way possible like… like… someone cleaving a rump roast beside me and the blade flying off the handle and stabbing me in the face," she vowed in all seriousness, crossing her chest.

A vendor passed by, pushing a cart with a makeshift hanging rack full of swinging sausages.

"Mobile meat! Get your mobile meat! I chop your chops on the spot!" the butcher yelled as he stopped the cart, pulled out a rump roast, slammed the piece on a board and commenced carving the meat. The cleaver glinted above his head and swooped down to sever a slab, steel blade loudly smacking on the wooden board, repeating the process with gusto.

Wide-eyed alarm crossed Okami's face as he glanced at the butcher and his enthusiastic cleaving. Evidently taking no chances, he shooed at Irse to stand further back, putting himself between her and an expected bladed projectile.

She moped at his obvious lack of confidence in her oath but shrank back as Okami narrowed his eyes at her and sighed.

 _Impulsive,_ it said without voice. He sighed again. _Reckless_ , it added. She bowed her head, a guilty cub with diffident eyes looking up at him.

"Who am I to pass judgment if I was not there at the beginning; when I only came to the door at the moment you faced two of them at the same time," he admitted. "At the very least, it is clear you have been observing and paying heed to your lessons."

"I'm always listening, and it won't go out the other ear. It's broken, remember?" Irse flicked at the left ear and winked, relieved at seeing her Teacher's expression soften a bit.

"An' I'm gonna break the other if ye two sods don't hurry. Already missed my chance fer a drink an' I be dratted if I don't start early with the mead sellers at the Tor," Dotie hissed at them and wobbled ahead.

Blacksmith and apprentice glanced at each other, then chuckled as both moved to follow behind their unwitting savior.

* * *

They quickly found the captain and the first mate at the Clearspring Tor, a wide grassy open space designated as a public park upon a crag overlooking the smaller river. With the sun already set and the summer air clear and cool, more people had begun to gather at the grounds. Picnic mats were laid on the grass as groups feasted on fare bought from vendors. Children played and ran on paved paths and around the trees under which minstrels entertained and sang for small crowds.

"There you are! Where did you go and why didn't you tell me first?" Nells asked Dotie, a hurt look on her face.

Beside her, Shar-Teel stood holding a woven basket filled with not a few dark-colored bottles. The captain rubbed her nose and cast knowing looks at the other three.

Dotie mumbled, "I, eh… be lookin' at the other stores. It be faster to find more goods fer ye to sell if we split, but I found nothin'." She sneaked in a warning look at the other two who kept their eyes averted.

"Oh, I didn't know. That's... truly kind of you," Nells said genuinely grateful. "The captain said you left me to go to a tavern, though I didn't believe you'd do something as thoughtless," she chirped, oblivious to Dotie's fidgeting.

"And it seems you ran into them too."

"Aye. I be lookin' at stalls when I, ah –"

"We were at the fountain when Irse saw her," Okami added, truthfully and nothing more. Both dwarf and elf backed him up by nodding a little too eagerly.

Shar-Teel pulled out a bottle and uncorked it, noticing the elf staring at the basket. "Am not a full tightwad, you know. Bought only a spare cork but got me everything else for free," the captain boasted.

Soon they found a good spot to enjoy the upcoming fireworks, a few feet from the edge of the crag and midmost along the perimeter.

Though more accurately, the captain wrangled a good spot from a small group of young men, threatening to tan their hides if they didn't scoot off. The boys took one look at Shar-Teel, sulked but moved over to side to give the crew a wide berth.

Naturally, Irse and Dotie were tasked to procure dinner for everyone. Naturally, a task not completed immediately for the young elf insisted on buying from nearly every single vendor within the vicinity.

"Are ye tryin' to feed an entire soddin' navy," Dotie grumbled through the loaves of bread and wrapped meats and cheese piled on her arms.

Irse rubbed her chin as she jangled the coins in the small pouch entrusted to her by the first mate. "It feels as if we're missing something important."

Dotie rolled her eyes. "What? Roast boar, clay-baked trout, sucklin' pig, grilled venison, stewed swan giblets, boiled peacock tongues, braised bear paws," she listed in a mocking tone.

"C'mon, does this look like a smorgasbord right now? I know you're always hungry but don't be dreaming and greedy," Irse chided, ignoring the dwarf's indignant glare.

"Goldenstars!" a hawker called out from not too far.

"That's it!" Irse cheered, running and waving the coin pouch at the vendor as it were a dinner bell.

* * *

"Are you trying to feed an entire sardin' navy," Shar-Teel exclaimed at seeing the parcels in their arms. "There better be coin left in there."

The elf puffed her cheeks. _Indeed, enough coin left to drown an entire navy in beer._

Everyone settled down to enjoy their supper, the young elf most of all, ravaging through half of the bag of goldenstars while the others were merely midway into their bread. Before them the Clearspring stretched out, merging with the Chionthar in the horizon, a dark mirror dully reflecting the moon and stars. As they were finishing their meal, they watched below as four barges rowed to the middle and dropped anchors.

A blast of the trumpet and the fireworks show started. Smaller rockets were the first to be launched from the barges, fizzling upwards and bursting into sharp crackles.

Successive missiles fired towards the sky, erupting into synchronized explosions with each round lasting a good several seconds. First were red and orange flame tongues spiraling outwards. They were followed by blazing yellow dots splattering across the black canvas in alternating cadence, glowing strings of green whirling in all directions, shimmering curtains of blue flowing like waterfalls of light, then dazzling purple globes which blazed and twinkled into nothingness, all repeated for more rounds but in varying order.

In between bursts of light and the thunder boom, the crowd gasped and clapped around them; the children shrieked with delight. Nells supposed that the fireworks may have been imported from the famed Felogyr's at Baldur's Gate whose pyrotechnics were produced by gnomish inventors and illusionists. Light flickering from the sky shone off the beer bottles hefted by Shar-Teel and Dotie.

For the finale, fountains of silver and white gushed from the barges. As they continued to blaze in tall columns of light, large streaks of fire zoomed towards the sky and exploded into massive luminous anemones in all hues, rapidly followed by more, turning night into day and color.

"Their light, brilliant and magnificent," Okami mused. "But only in an instant. Then gone and returning to the darkness."

Irse looked at him, her brows furrowed. Like the fleetingness of the fireworks that he lamented, his face was briefly illuminated by each flash, then dimmed at the passing of light.

To her mind came her foster father's words. _Each soul is like a match flame. With care and patience lit until it glows to its peak, but with a mere gust of breath, extinguished forever._

Then it dawned upon her, both terrifying and sad.

As with the fireworks blazing in the sky for mere seconds, so will the span of a human lifetime before her eyes. _Like a match flame._

She understood now.

"You're right. Here too quick, but gone too soon and forgotten," Irse agreed, turning to look at the sky once more.

"But not if I hold on to this moment for as long as I can."

The last round flared above their heads.

"And remember it forever."

They lingered for several seconds before dissipating into a thousand flickering sparkles falling gently to the earth.

"Then it will not have been for naught," he said.

She stole a glance at her Teacher still gazing at the heavens, a faint but proud smile upon his face.

Irse then grinned to herself as she looked up again to watch the last of the golden sparks fade into the night sky.

* * *

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 _And scribblings more:_

The Bhaalspawn gains a new ability. The divine inability to follow plainly written door signs. ;P

In the end, Balfara could've not let it go but chose to be the Bigger Girl in the situation. Be like Balfara, folks. ;)

Some gods sow oats. Others test oaths. ;)

And… Dotie and Okami - _The OTP That Never Was_.

Because _someone_ is convinced that Dotie has the hots for Okami. You know who you are. This is all your doing. XD


	20. Riverbend (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, now that the cat _that is and is not_ is out of the box, a thousand apologies for this bit of juvenile indulgence at the start. An attempt to portray what the _truest_ of friends say and do to each other. ;)

* * *

"What you seek, is seeking you."  
\- Rumi

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 20 : Riverbend**

* * *

Four muted souls sat around a table by the window of the empty common room, thick curtains drawn to shut out the morning light too harsh for bloodshot eyes. Of them, two nursed their aching temples and abdomen, the other slumped with her head nestled between her bulky arms, while the last one leaned against a chair and stared with glazed eyes at the carpeted ceiling as she clutched at her stomach.

The same eyes slid down to the steaming plate in front of her, piled with blood sausages, baked beans, fried bread, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, and a small family of poached eggs.

"I don't think I've ever eaten so much at a dinner that isn't a midwinter feast," Irse groaned at the sight of breakfast, rubbing her belly, remembering how much more of the food and drink had been bought after the fireworks.

Nonetheless, the elf leaned forward, grabbed the cutlery and began eagerly digging into her meal, ignoring the surprised frown from Shar-Teel sitting across her.

Dotie moaned, her mutterings muffled by the wood against her face.

"There's our champion," the captain proclaimed and leaned over to muss the dwarf's hair with savored roughness, the latter too weak to swat back.

"Aww, Teacher wouldn't let me have any, but at least that meant more drinks for Dotie," Irse said as she wiped the grease from her mouth and gazed in awe at the suffering woman beside her. "But I counted twenty? Thirty pints in front of her? Where did she put all of that in?"

Nells smiled despite the obvious discomfort behind her eyes. "Dwarven folk are remarkably good at holding in their drink but I do recall her taking the time to relieve herself and for quite a while too."

"That's a proper way of sayin' she was peeing and puking her guts out at the bush behind us," Shar-Teel snorted. "Folks are gonna steer clear of that shrub for days."

"Oh, come now," Nells said. "We all did our share of alleviating ourselves that way. Not an admirable thing to do to nature, but fortunately no city guards and _druids_ were patrolling at the time."

Irse wagged a spoon at her seatmate. "Sure, we all did. But Dotie's must be the _wettest bush_ at the park last night."

Shar-Teel erupted into fits of sniggering while Nells beamed and covered her mouth.

"What? What did I say this time?" Irse griped then yelped at a sudden hard slap at the side.

"Only the most idiotic thing to say in the mornin'!" Dotie growled, having pulled herself from her stupor and smacked the elf.

Irse rubbed the pained shoulder and arm. "I _say things?_ I'm not the one drunk out of her mind last night and saying _weird stuff_ ," she said, leaning at Dotie with a narrowed gaze.

"… at _Teacher_."

The dwarf paled at the accusation, her eyes darting in clear panic to each of the crewmembers. "Yer lyin', I cannae remember nothin'. An' if true, I be certain not at that... _Noodle-Stick!_ "

But the rest of the crew merely stared back keenly.

"What'd I say anyway?" Dotie almost whispered.

Shar-Teel raised an eyebrow. "Do we look like we speak _rock_?"

"Well, you've never been that spirited talking to anyone before which was nice, but we can't understand duergar. We were hoping you'd enlighten us," Nells said.

"Yep, and Teacher was all just – _I appreciate the conversation, Dotie, but your words are beyond my limited knowledge of languages. Please forgive my grave inadequacy but know that if what you say is close to your heart then I would have returned the kindness of understanding,"_ Irse enunciated in her best impression of Okami's speech, hands clasped together with repeated exaggerated apologetic bowing at each word.

Dotie stared wide-eyed at the elf, frozen for a moment. Then she sighed a suspiciously relieved sigh and pulled her plate closer.

"Nothin' ye sods should give a rat's fart about," she grumbled, her fork hovering and trembling above the sausages.

Irse leaned back, twirling a knife in thought. "Something about _axes_ , I bet. After all, you're a dwarf and he's a blacksmith. We throw you in a forge together, lock the door and see what you two will make in there!"

Dotie stiffened in her seat. "What we be _makin'_ in there?" She blinked furiously, then wagged her head as if to catch herself. "Get it outta' yer fool head that all Deep Folk are smiths 'cause I not be one."

Undeterred and inspired by the visits at the weapons shops and the prior night's adventure, Irse went on, her mind already filled with visions of floating, gleaming axes of all shapes and sizes – battleaxes, felling axes, throwing axes, broad-axes, pickaxes, bearded axes, axe-hammers, boarding axes…

"All right, but if that's so then you wouldn't have to do anything. Just tell him how you want it and he'll do _all_ the work. Teacher's really good with his hands, why, he could even _make you a nail in just one heat!_ "

Irse paused, puzzled. "Eh, why are you pinching your nose?" she asked and pointed. "Is it bleeding?"

Dotie stopped grasping her nose, snorted and raised her hands as if to strangle the glib elf beside her.

"Stop… yer… yammerin'… already," Dotie muttered through gritted teeth, fingers twitching in the air and inching towards their target.

Nells clapped her palms together, startling the elf from her daydream and the dwarf from her evidently budding murderous intent.

"Well! At least we all made it back in one piece! No fights, no brawls, no one almost killed or publicly embarrassed!" she interjected in a strained bright tone, fortunately overlooking the two who abruptly straightened up in their seats like guilty children.

Dotie coughed and pointed her fork at each one of them at the table. "Speakin' o' gettin' back here. Which one o' ye sods put me in the sack last night? Swaddled me like an addled babe an' laid me at my side –"

"So you don't drown in your own vomit, if you do again in your sleep," Shar-Teel butted in. "Last time you did, I almost had the deck planks pulled out and burned."

"Aye, 'cause that be what ye get when yer too cheap to buy quality grog. Now who did that? Was it ye?" Dotie turned on Nells who, as Irse often heard the half-duergar say, must have been made the first mate because she was always the _first_ to perform acts of sickening kindness.

"I'd love to have done that for you but I'm afraid I was too tired by then. I only remember heading straight for my room as soon as we arrived here," Nells replied.

Dotie glared at Irse.

"Don't look at me," the elf retorted. "You would've punched me in the face if I did."

Dotie grunted as if satisfied at the acknowledgment, then rounded on the captain.

Shar-Teel huffed, "If I could do all that with a thirty-foot oar, then maybe yeah. But, no."

"Then how…?"

"How? Like a sleeping baby cradled in her _da's_ arms," Irse teased, gesturing the act of rocking an infant.

"More like a bride plastered at the wedding party and missing her own threshold crossing," Shar-Teel piled on, holding up her arms as if bearing a fainted maiden in them and making smoochy noises. Captain and elf laughed and exchanged high-fives.

"Oh, stop it you two," Nells admonished. "Dotie, don't listen to them. I'm sure it wasn't much trouble for Mister Okami to carry you by himself all the way from the park to your bed."

Dotie's face drained of all color. Even the gray.

"For someone quite lean, he _is_ pretty strong," Nells observed objectively.

Shar-Teel added appraisingly, "Ah, yeah. Maybe worked those reedy muscles from haulin' sacks of potatoes all the time. Must've been some _really_ heavy potatoes back at the rice fields in Kara-Tur or Koza-Wherever he's from."

The elf tried to suppress the ironic quirk in her lips at the captain's guess. But then she pouted, a bit miffed at her Teacher's attentiveness to Dotie, and peeved at the missed chance to prank the dwarf by hiding the latter's boots and pretending she had accidentally dropped them along the way.

Irse faced Dotie again and groused, "You know, I wanted to help carry you. Told him I'd hold the other end with your feet. But _no,_ he said - _What manner of man am I if I… if I…_ \- ah, whatever, I forgot the rest."

 _"... if I burdened you with my duty to care for one who has labored and toiled beside me, and when it is within my capacity to bear alone_ ," Okami continued for her.

Irse gave a startled squeak at finding her Teacher suddenly standing next to the table, a tray in his hands. She grinned uncomfortably as he shot her a dry look before he went around to set down a mug of steaming tea before each one except his apprentice. Irse managed a quick peek at Shar-Teel's before the woman grabbed it. A dark green liquid with tiny leaves and bits of stem floating on the surface.

"What's this? Stinks with twice the grass than what you have all the time," Shar-Teel questioned as she swirled the mug below her nose.

" _Solmac_ , an herbal tonic to ease discomfort after a bout of revelry. Though more common in my homeland, I was surprised that the proprietor keeps these for her patrons and was kind enough to let me brew them in the kitchen."

Nells took one sip and her eyes widened. "Tastes… potent," she coughed, clearly fighting to stay polite, but finally gave in and hacked and gagged.

"That is why you must drink all of it in one turn."

The first mate steeled herself, but then struggled to down the tea, half-retching while the mug was still at her lips. Nells finally put the mug down, heaving, then went still. She raised her head and exhaled.

"It works," Nells hailed.

The captain took one look at her own mug, shrugged her shoulders then tilted her head and poured the tea down her throat. Spasms, a bit of spewing, mug and fists pounding on the table, curses croaked out, a long pause, then a huff.

"Grody," Shar-Teel gasped. "But damned quick and better than a hair of the dog."

Their dreadful doses taken, captain and first mate now looked at the boatswain expectantly. Dotie glared back defiant despite the undeniable pain on her face, cupping the mug in trembling hands.

"I prepared double the prescribed amount in your serving," Okami disclosed.

"Are ye' sayin' I be weak like some two-pot screamin' thimble guts so yer givin' me more o' this meadow mush?"

"No one disputes your prowess in the drink but excess eventually ravages your health. The solmac more than eases, it heals. More so for your indulgence last night," he answered firmly.

Dotie seemed taken aback by the admonition in his words. Irse bobbed her head in righteous support of her Teacher's reproof.

"Just drink the damned thing already," Shar-Teel egged. "Let's see if your throat is as tough as you say."

Dotie looked down at her mug, evidently hesitant.

"In consideration of the taste, I also added honey to your dose."

Captain and first mate scowled at the blacksmith, visibly piqued at being denied that bit of help.

"Teacher, you should also put san qi in Dotie's drink," Irse blurted with eagerness. _There_ , that should show him she was keen to help, selfless, _not immature,_ capable of rising above petty little differences.

"San qi? For what injury?"

"Her nose was bleeding a while ago, I think. Maybe she knocked her head somewhere?"

"You probably banged her noggin against the headboard. Better check if it's cracked, the board I mean, or we gotta' bail before the owner finds out," Shar-Teel snickered.

Okami tensed. "Have I been remiss in my handling? I am certain I was most gentle last night," he said with alarm.

The mug in the dwarven hands was shaking.

"I'm sure it's fine, Teacher, nothing too serious. You could've banged Dotie against anything in this inn and it wouldn't bruise nor would anyone hear a thing, see? I mean, listen," Irse said, an earnest attempt to allay his distress.

And to demonstrate her claim, Irse leaned back on her chair as far as possible without losing balance, reaching over to repeatedly pound a fist against the thickly curtained wall behind them. Likewise eager to help, Nells thumped her foot at the carpeted floor, humming her agreement with the elf.

Indeed, the all-over carpeting hushed all noise. Even the angry growl escaping through Dotie's clenched teeth.

"Yer all a bunch o' soddin' fools an' yer makin' my megrim worse!"

Everyone froze at the outburst and at the sight of the half-duergar standing indignant. Dotie gave one last irate snort, grabbed the mug, downed everything in one gulp and slammed it on the table.

"Thank ye," she said to Okami. "Fer the honey."

"You are… welcome."

And then the dwarf stomped, though with angry steps muffled, out of the common room and climbed the stairs to the rooms.

The elf blinked. "What's eating her?"

Shar-Teel smirked. "Something with a cast-iron stomach?"

Irse peered at the abandoned yet still full plate in Dotie's place. Gingerly, she pressed one finger at the edge of the dish and slowly pulled it towards herself. Seeing the others' eyes narrow at her, she sulked.

"Aw, c'mon. She didn't touch any of her breakfast," Irse reasoned. "Do you think she's coming back for it, though?"

* * *

At her Teacher's insistence, they joined the crew at the barge to fetch the ship from where it had been run aground. He must have felt responsible, even though it had been the captain's decision to crash her own ship. Which was, of course, because Safana had forced their hand with the hostages. But then it was because Okami's scuttling worked too well, the water not only filling the bilge but reaching up to the cargo hold as well.

Which wouldn't have been necessary had the crew not agreed to Safana's shady offer. Which wouldn't have mattered if the Calishite was merely hoping to catch a cheap river cruise or even looking to drag a gullible bunch to go hunting for buried pirate treasure somewhere, instead of trading in slaves.

Then she would have been alive today, enjoying the very freedoms she had stolen from others, and not dead and interred in shallow earth beyond the trees. _Her choice, her consequence._

And yet, Irse wrestled with that sinking feeling in the stomach as they neared the moored boat. Almost as if she expected to see a specter standing at the shore, dark hair flowing in the wind and away from a face torn by carrion birds and a throat with a gaping mouth at the jugular.

 _Accept it. Just as he had said that night when they buried her._

Irse took a deep breath, grasped at the railings and leaned over as the crewmen paddled them closer and lowered the anchor. The shore remained empty. No ghost waited for her there.

Everyone disembarked and swarmed the ship like ants inspecting a discarded morsel on the floor. While the barge crew descended into the cargo hold with buckets to flush out the water, the foreman joined them in inspecting the visible parts of the hull.

"I see you've boarded up some of the holes, but there could still be hairline cracks along the keel. We can only be sure once we've taken her to the shipyard and turn the whole thing over and see for ourselves. For now, we pull her off the sandbar and haul it all back with us," he said.

Thick rope, a hawser, with the other end attached to a kedge anchor was drawn through the cat-hole on the grounded ship's bow. They put the kedge on a dinghy which they rowed out to the middle of the river where they dropped the smaller anchor. Then the men at the dinghy pulled at the hawser. With spare oars, the other laborers stood at the sandbar and pushed off at the bottom, a few of them holding on to ropes secured at the port side to ensure that the boat wouldn't list too much to its starboard once pulled back into the water.

Though barred from helping, Irse watched the process, fascinated. It seemed only that little effort was required to sail a great craft through the waters, steered by none other than a little wheel at the helm. A single contraption quite small compared to the sails and to the rudder it controls. And all it would take was the pilot's whim, their thought, their idea, to take everything wheresoever they desire.

And yet, much work to be done to right a vessel that had lost its course, strayed from the waters and run aground.

"It sure takes a lot of people to get a ship back into the water," she remarked at her Teacher as they observed from their place at the barge.

"Were the conditions favorable, the water of sufficient level, then we might have been able to perform this ourselves. But then, we cannot do all things by our own hands. Sometimes we must turn to others, better equipped and better learned than us, for aid."

"Right. But why are they pulling against the current? Wouldn't it be easier to pull along with the tides and just let the waves help to push the boat into the water?"

"Yes, the waves will. But this is now a ship without its own control, the rudder likely damaged. Were they to pull along with the tides, the waters will drive the vessel forward but with no telling whether the currents shall hit the port or starboard. Given the unpredictable force and direction, the ship might entangle with the hawser and crash again or worse."

"Rather than fix things, trying to make it easier might only make it worse?"

"You understand. Not all the time is it wise to go with the flow. One must stand back and gauge if the best course might be to go against the stream instead."

Cries of effort filled the air as the team of laborers pulled at the hawser.

"Even when it will be difficult, and yours are the only hands at the rope."

Irse nodded and glanced at his hands resting upon the railings, then turned her eyes back to the water.

* * *

They stood at the docks, watching as crates were loaded on the next ship to Iriaebor. Their fare had been waived by the captain of that boat after seeing the Harpers' letter to the Harbormaster. Now all that was needed was for them to await the last call for passengers, and to say their farewells.

But before that, Irse knew she herself must bid goodbye to a new friend, one that had been made only yesterday, yet one she would never forget.

She walked over to a hawker. "Ten goldenstars, please," she said to him with a bit of heaviness in her heart and stomach at the realization that she would not be having the tasty pastries again.

But as she watched the vendor cook up her order, a question gnawed at her. It had crossed the mind, only fleetingly the first time she bought them, but the crackle of frying oil and a rumbling stomach had been louder. She had to ask the question, now or never.

"Wait, sir. What's in _these_?" she asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Dotie exclaimed incredulously, "Ye were eatin' those all night an' askin' only now?"

The peddler stammered for a moment at the question. "Er, chopped sausages, turnips, and sauce made from cream and chicken stock."

And in recollection of the often-odd inventory of herbs and plants at Brother Karan's apothecary…

"And no strange mushrooms? Nothing that you could eat that will make you see funny things?"

"Why, none. No mushrooms in these at all."

"And the sausages? What are they made of, _exactly?"_ Irse continued with her interrogation.

"Eh, pork and pork trimmings," the peddler said, taking on a worried face at the line of questioning.

"Great! Make it twenty goldenstars then!" Irse cheered as she dug into her pocket for coin. _Best twenty coppers she will ever spend in her life._

"Had to make sure of what one puts in their stomach, you know," she explained with an awkward grin. She paid the hawker and offered the goldenstars to the rest of the crew who each took a piece.

"Someone oughta' warn the poor sod who marries her," Shar-Teel said, sniffing at the pastry in her hand. "He's gonna have to get used to ants all over the house. Maybe even the bed."

"Noted," Okami replied solemnly. "Worry not. The warning will be relayed when the time comes."

Irse made a wry face at hearing their talk. _Ew_ , _marriage._

It had always been a source of mystery to her how one could make the choice to be with another for the rest of their lives. Sure, Winthrop and his wife, Marna, were a loving old married couple but the constant ribbing and bickering hardly made for the romantic love-at-first-sights and happy endings so profusely praised in the storybooks. More so the Keep's laborers, men or women, who constantly complained about their spouses back in the village below. The Avowed were mostly celibate, not by rule or tenet, but simply because their calling seemed to have little space of time and mind for things that were not books and for learning. And then there was Gorion, who had never taken a wife and raised a family before his life behind the walls, and yet for some reason decided to adopt an orphan elf as his own.

Once she did try to imagine such fate for herself, but it was futile. _Of course you'll marry an elf because you're one_ , a laundry woman at the Keep had chided her. But then, what would it be like? Five hundred years of gazing _elvishly_ into each other's eyes and doing what – _elven things,_ whatever they were?

Irse realized her imagination lent more to putting a face on a slice of midwinter fruitcake than on her future husband. And fruitcakes were more, well, _filling_ , she reasoned, with their nuts and candied fruit. _Which husbands have none of_.

The final boarding call was sounded.

Dotie grabbed at Irse's sleeve and yanked hard, forcing the girl to bend forward awkwardly at the waist.

"Now don't be muckin' about pokin' yer nose into any more trouble," the dwarf sternly hissed at the elf's face.

"'Cause if ye be gettin' yerself an' him into another soddin' mess, I be huntin' ye down to the ends of the realms and breakin' yer pointy weedy kneecaps, ya hear me?"

Irse straightened herself and saluted. "Yes, Ma'am!"

She beamed as she watched Dotie and her Teacher shake hands; Okami leaning his head in deference as if the half-duergar was taller, greater than him. Irse's keen eyes noted the pudgy fingers holding on a little too tightly, a little too longer at her Teacher's hand, but felt no grudge this time. Only a strange wave of grateful affection.

Nells seemed wistful and overwhelmed. She clasped her hands, breathing in deeply as if to gather the words, then held the young elf at the shoulders.

"I'm glad we met you and Mister Okami. We all are. We're grateful," she said.

"Me too," Irse replied, smiling. "I'll remember everything you've told to me. I'll never forget." _Including the ship's name._

"I wish you luck and the Seldarine's blessing in finding your parents," Nells added. "As my grandmother always said whenever she's looking for anyone or anything in the forest…"

The half-elf pulled Irse to an embrace.

" _What you seek, is also seeking you_ ," Nells whispered and let go. "Remember that."

Irse rubbed her nose, grinned, and mouthed her thanks.

"So this is goodbye then," Shar-Teel finally said, the edge a bit too rough in her voice. "'Guess we'll see you 'round, you sorry sops."

Blacksmith and apprentice faced the crew and bowed with deepest respect.

"Captain," Okami declared. "It has been an honor."

Shar-Teel raised a forefinger at her temple and saluted him.

The pair boarded the vessel, the gangplank taken up, and the ship setting sail. Irse waved at them as they pulled away. The distance grew and they walked to the stern to catch a final glimpse of the women who had been their companions these past weeks. Not even a full month, but to the young elf it felt almost like a lifetime.

"The gods and fate be kind to them," Okami murmured to the winds.

From her view the bridges of Berdusk eventually disappeared. She looked around, seized by an odd feeling that for once, she was truly a passenger. The young elf fought the urge to march over to the first mate and ask for the sounding line or a bucket and mop. Nothing else to do for now but to watch the ripples on the water.

"The journey will take a day. Use the time to rest," he said.

"Yes, Teacher."

A day between now and Iriaebor.

And how many more between then and her final step?

* * *

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 _And scribblings brief:_

I'm sorry, Dotie. This chapter was supposed to be a very educational and informative procedure manual on the mechanics of ship hauling and repairs, but your crewmates grabbed the script and sailed away with it.

Centuries from now, Irse will take her reverie, relive this particular day, realize the things she had said and go - OH GODS WHY. ಥ_ಥ


	21. A Thousand Mountains (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, you have my deepest thanks for joining us in this wee journey :D

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 21 : A Thousand Mountains**

* * *

 _It's_ _them!_

Irse leaned over the rails, the winds brisk against her face as the towers of Iriaebor emerged from the horizon.

White and gray without count, they rose from the top of a great hill facing the harbor, innumerable lighthouses shining upon a river of blue and on the sea of earth and stone. With pride they reached to the skies, the regal points of a marble diadem crowning the brown land.

"Welcome to Iriaebor. The City of…," the captain announced as they berthed at the port.

 _A Thousand Spires,_ Irse echoed in her mind.

"… a thousand white-washed dung heaps where nests the greedy black-souled, hole-hearted, money-worshipping vultures," the man finished and punctuated with a spat on the deck floor.

Master and apprentice glanced at each other. A fair warning, perhaps.

Beneath the shadow of the ridge and its towers, Iriaebor's port rivaled the busy harbors of Baldur's Gate and Berdusk. Its waters teemed with ships arriving and leaving port, watchtowers, berths, slipways on which boats newly built are launched. While on land, warehouses stood crammed and wall-to-wall amidst the swarm of activity.

The pair navigated the unpaved trails, dodging harried laborers and horse drawn carts bearing sealed crates or uncovered barrels of fish sloshing and spilling onto the muddied ground. Pack hugged close to her chest, Irse hopped over puddles and potholes, ducking in between anything moving and still, determined not to fall behind as she kept up with her Teacher's stride.

Evidently in a hurry to meet his acquaintance. _But before breakfast?_ Irse's heart sank. Ah, well. The sooner this person was found, the sooner they could have their first bite of the day. But how many blocks have they passed now? Irse sighed. At least they might dare to be on time for brunch.

She steeled her jaw, tightened the grip on her pack and sucked in her stomach, hoping it would be enough to muffle the beginnings of a complaint. They stopped at a corner to get their bearings and for her Teacher to explain their course.

"City carriages await their passengers at the outskirts of the Docks. We must find one to take us to -"

A low rumble interrupted him. Okami looked at her.

"Must be a foghorn," Irse quibbled through an awkward grin, crushing the pack against her torso.

Her Teacher's eyes darted around at the clear air. "Forgive me. I had planned for us to break our fast upon meeting my acquaintance. But your stomach begs to disagree."

The elf glared at him. "How could you have possibly heard _that?_ " she almost yelled over the shouting of harbor hands and traders, creaking of wagon wheels, and the braying of horses and mules.

Okami quirked his lips. "A dragon's whisper among the clucking of a multitude of hens is still the voice of a dragon nonetheless."

Irse pouted at his jibe, maintaining the scowl for an entire block until he led them to a rickety wooden house bearing a sign of a jug spilling its wine.

 _A tankard house_ , her stomach read in a happy croak as they went inside. They sat by an open window, the main floor raised above the muddy ground by thick wooden stilts, allowing them an elevated view of the harbor.

Breakfast consisted of tea, a basket of bread, and a crock of cheese, the last taking its time getting to the table. The crumbs on her lap grew to a tiny pile as she tore through the bun. A drop of tea joined the flour dust on her knee. _So hungry. Couldn't even wait for the cheese._

And arrived it did in an earthen bowl. _Finally,_ Irse grumbled _._ Are they serving elven cheese – something aged for three centuries, turned over on its other side for another two?

The waiter glanced at the empty wicker basket on the table. "More bread, my friends?" he offered.

"Yes, please," Irse mumbled through a loaf being devoured in progress.

"That will be an extra twenty coppers."

 _What. A loaf should only cost two coppers at most and there were no more than five in the basket._

She hesitated. Teacher had already paid for what had been set down before them while in his plate lay a half-eaten roll; his sole share in the meal so far. Guiltily, Irse reached into her pocket for the money. However, Okami demonstrated the same swiftness as with his blade, sliding the equivalent in two silvers towards the server who took the payment and promptly returned to the kitchens.

"Wait for the bread," he charged his apprentice, evidently not needing to see the fingers creeping towards the cheese bowl.

Irse blinked and drew back her hand.

The blacksmith shot her a side glance. "It is a tactic of theirs – to serve your food and drink in protracted phases, rendering you unsatisfied with what you feel is an incomplete meal and compelling you to purchase more."

The elf scowled. _Sneaky_ , she groused to herself. Two can play this game. Though the cheese, sitting white and fluffy in the bowl, cared not for contests of wills. Irse glared at it, grinding the tip of the knife handle on the table surface.

"Victory will not always reward the army that gathers the most men, but the army that stays its swords for the most hours," Okami reminded her.

The grinding progressed to restless tapping.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Have patience. The grass will become milk soon enough."

Irse paused, understanding the proverb. Though if applied to Dreppin's old Nessa, the sage who came up with the maxim would find himself strung up the nearest tree for spreading such a fanciful fib.

* * *

They lingered no longer than necessary, with haste leaving the tankard house to board a wagon. The carriage, a plain uncovered horse-drawn cart, had slats nailed to the inner sides to serve as makeshift benches for passengers. Though far from the gilded private boxes of the nobility, still a welcome comfort and efficiency preferable to traversing the muddy wagon trails by foot.

Okami spoke with the carriage driver, reciting the directions from a piece of parchment he had fished out of his pack.

"May we request you to bring us to the Lower City, to the third door of the southernmost block in the Street of Hammers?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's in my route. We leave when the wagon's full," the driver muttered.

Having been first to seat themselves in the empty cart, the pair sat in quiet observation of the hubbub around them. After a while and unable to contain her curiosity, Irse tugged at her Teacher's sleeve.

"I'm guessing over there's not the _Lower_ City," she supposed. Irse pointed to the mound where the towers rested, a rocky hill she figured could easily be more than a few hundred feet from its base, more or less a league-long and perhaps half across. From afar, her eyes could make out a single road sloping steeply from the foot of the knoll, winding gently midway in keeping with the contour of the rockface, before resuming a straight path to the gate.

"The Old City on the Tor. Home to the temples and the seat of Iriaebor's government, and the abode of the most powerful merchants."

"Huh, I thought only mages lived in towers," she chuckled. "I bet it takes them a whole day just to reach the bottom of the stairs."

" _Or perhaps they never come down at all_ ," Okami mused.

His finger traced the horizon, guiding her sight to what appeared in the distance as cobwebs strewn between the balconies.

"Do you see the bridges connecting the upper levels? Those are how they move from one spire to another unless the neighbor in the next tower is a competitor."

Irse laughed skeptically. "If you're a rich baker strolling out for morning air at your tower's bridge, you could run into your neighbor, an enemy pastry chef, and they could push you off to your death, just like that?"

"A clean and quiet way to dispose of a rival. An alternative to the prior years' open guild wars that, they say, used to soak the streets of this city in blood; thankfully put to an end by the current Lord and his council."

The elf winced, imagining the long plunge down. Apparently in Iriaebor, business is _serious business_.

But she dispelled the grim notion and let her eyes explore what her sight could afford of the stone turrets. Irse imagined herself sitting atop one of those towers, feet dangling over the eaves, wind whipping her hair, the world so small below, the horizon straight ahead and the sky above and infinite. _Just as she had always done back at home, on the roof of her attic room of the battlement facing the Sea of Swords._

"The Old City stands between the Docks here and the Lower City housing the industries and dwellings of common folk. There, we are to seek an old acquaintance of mine who, not too long ago, offered a space for me to practice my trade."

He looked down at her and beamed indulgently. "And where your learning may continue."

At his words the young elf's eyes widened, eager and excited. She sprang from her seat and scrambled to the front. The driver sat waiting, head bobbing from a nap stolen in intermittent winks.

"Eh, Mister Horseman, could we go now? Do we have to wait for others to ride with us?" she buzzed, poking a finger at his shoulder.

The man stirred from his half-snooze and snorted. "If you can cough up thirty coppers and a half for each passenger I should be carrying with a full wagon, plus twenty silvers for the rush. We can leave now and get there faster than a hired griffon _."_

"Really? Wait," Irse said. She turned around to estimate the number of people who could be sitting at the wagon now. Each bench could seat six at most, four sides in all, add ten more probably willing to sit on the floor if cramming them all in like fish in a bucket. Then, a quick mental sum of the money in her purse. Then a not so mental gasp at the exorbitant demand.

"That's ridiculous, Mister! We're only paying twenty coppers each. It should be cheaper if we got a boat and drove it _on land_ all the way through the city!"

"You're just stalling. Now it's fifty coppers for each head plus seventy silvers. Time and prices a' ticking," the man drawled.

She glared at the carriage driver before returning to her seat. Well then, no choice but to sit and wait and stew under the morning sun now climbing to its zenith.

Irse hunched over her pack on her knees and huffed.

 _Welcome to Iriaebor._

* * *

Their wagon trotted through the Lower City, a stifling labyrinth more packed than the streets of the other cities she had seen. Narrow cobbled lanes snaked through one other, flanked by tall houses of either rickety wood or grimy stone, built cheek-to-cheek. All have a shop at the street level, be it a merchandising store, a tannery, a slaughterhouse, or a stable. Most likely, common folk either lived in the basement or the higher floors, the theory confirmed by the lines of wash hanging on poles jutting from the upper windows, patched and faded flags waving their welcome at the people below.

"This be the spot as you said," the driver hollered at them, the carriage stopping in front of a shop.

Okami thanked the man as they alighted from the wagon. He looked up from his note, then both ways to count the number of doors from the end of the block, at the door sign, then at the window display in front of them.

And blushed a deep red.

"Your friend sells women's corsets and lace knickers?" Irse questioned a little too loudly. She approached the glass pane and peered closer at a mannequin wearing a pointier than usual conical brassiere.

 _Victor's Public Knowledge._ An odd name for a lingerie shop.

"There must be a mistake, though the address is correct. Perhaps we could instead inquire with the other stores," he suggested hastily.

But attempts to ask the other stall owners in the same block about the previous occupant of the third door yielded the exact same number of answers as the shops they had approached. _Ten_ , in all; and none matching the description of Okami's acquaintance.

No other choice but to brave the cave of feminine frills and lace. Okami breathed in deeply and made to march in, the picture of a soldier resigned to his fate, about to confront overwhelming armies. But Irse barred him with an outstretched arm.

"I'll do it," she volunteered, feeling a small pat of pride at the obvious relief on his face.

Okami handed her the slip of parchment. "Inquire with them if they know this person," he instructed.

Irse took the paper and gave it a once over. "All right. But _you_ stay here and _don't go anywhere without me_ ," she insisted, wagging a finger at him and wondering why he returned an indignant glare. The elf scratched her ear and went in.

A sweet-countenanced aged dame manned the store by herself, smothered in velvet and pearls, hair done up in a fashionable beehive. Irse showed her the piece of parchment bearing the name and address. She surveyed the shop displays, waiting while the old woman peered into the paper through an oversized bifocal. Shapely mannequins filled the room, each one resembling too closely the female form of all sizes and races, draped in the finest flimsiest silk and lace, leaving nothing to the imagination.

The elf squinted at one bizarre dummy in a far corner. Spherical, as wide as a man prone, on its top protruded what looked like ten stuffed stockings with pompoms sewn at the tip. Draped all over the entire thing, the chemise had holes sewn to let the stalks through the silk and to reveal a single large opening in the middle of the _body_ , if it could be called such.

She approached the strange mannequin, about to poke at it when the shopkeeper spoke up.

"Sorry, dearie. But I do not know this person nor their business," the elderly lady apologized. "We ourselves have only been in this location for a week."

"Only a week?" A flash of idea hit her. "Auntie," Irse addressed the woman, recalling the way her Teacher referred to the aged. "What about the folks who were here before you? Maybe you could tell me who they are and where they went after they left?"

"Of course, sweetie. They make explosive potions; the kind adventurers and mages love. They said they're moving to a stall in the Street of Porcelains, but I forgot which door exactly."

Irse gently divested her of the note and patted the gnarled hand. "It's fine, ma'am. We'll ask around ourselves." She bowed in farewell and headed for the door.

"Thank you for understanding, dearie," the old shopkeeper chirped. She pointed at the window.

"Oh and tell your friend over there - _she_ can come in anytime to have herself fitted. A pretty one she is but no need to be shy about her bosom. Why, over the years I've helped hundreds like her with chests plainer than the flatlands beyond the city wall to gain busts the size of the Tor… with the towers too!"

Irse squirmed, uttered a quick thanks and dashed outside. To her relief, Okami stood there still, though a bit more to the front of the next store.

She shared with him what she had gotten from the old shopkeeper. _Except for the invitation_. The elf hoped her Teacher didn't notice the awkward reflexive peek at his chest, the awkward cough and the awkward stare elsewhere.

Fortunately, it didn't prove too difficult to find the explosive potions store the brassiere seller had mentioned. A patrolling city watch helpfully pointed them to the Street of Porcelains followed by a simple matter of searching the entire block until they found a wooden sign half-charred and hanging precariously above a door with scorch marks.

The owners turned out to be an ancient gnomish couple in soot-stained tunics, ash-powdered leather aprons, and dust-streaked goggles doing business behind a singed counter piled high with glass globes filled with golden viscous liquid.

The pair stared unsettled at the old and trembling hands as the gnomes stood on rickety stools and stacked the delicate flasks on a desk behind the counter. Broken crockery propped up two of the table's uneven legs.

"Very much correct, young fella'. We held shop at the Hammers for a few days," the old man confirmed as he set down an explosive potion on the fifth level of the pile. His fingertip twitched as it pushed the bottle inwards. With the container designed to have a near perfect rounded bottom, the potion tipped to one side, swiveling a few times more before it stilled on its own.

Elf and blacksmith both resumed breathing again.

"Uncle, Auntie, would you happen to remember the business occupying the place before you moved in?" Okami asked.

Irse silently thanked Tethrin for her Teacher's unearthly focus. Not a small feat, talking while keeping watch on the hands, the bottles, ears pricking at the slightest tinkle of glass lest it be followed by a boom and roar of fire.

The old woman gnome replied, "I think it used to be a leathers shop?"

"Was it? Ah, yes, yes. A leathers shop run by a shy and timid lady. Isn't she, my spiced turnip pie?" the old man answered, tilting his head and winking at the wife.

"Yes, she is. And she makes such pretty leathers too," the old woman agreed, beaming at her husband and waving a quivering hand clutching a full potion bottle.

Irse noticed her Teacher tensing, visibly readying to leap over the counter and catch the bottle should it fall from her hands. But the old gnome set it ever so slowly at the bottom of another pile on the ground. However, the potion she had laid down dislodged three more. The bottles rolled across the floor, the grinding of glass against stone echoing in the small room.

Clearly by instinct, Okami stepped forward to shield his apprentice.

Clearly by an interest to watch anything exploding, Irse peeked from behind her Teacher.

Clearly by Tethrin's mercy, the bottles bumped into a discarded charred mattress leaning upright against the wall. Their momentum halted, the potions rocked side-to-side before spinning to a stop.

"Dear, I've been telling you to throw out that old dirty thing since last week," the old woman complained, pointing at the mattress.

Her husband raised a bushy eyebrow. "Well, now you remind me. I'll have one of the lads come and pick it up."

Irse grimaced. Hopefully, he meant the potions which the couple seemed to have forgotten almost immediately.

"I've heard the leathers woman set up her store at the Lane of Silks. Go outside, leftwards till you reach the end of the block, it's the street crossing this one. Take to your right, you'll come across her eventually. You better go there now or you might miss her," the old man added.

"She closes before noon?" Irse asked.

The old gnomish woman wagged both hands. "Oh, no. He means she might have packed shop and gone off to a new spot."

Master and apprentice looked at each other in alarm, thanked the couple, bowed, and swiftly left.

"What's with these stores never staying in one place," the elf grumbled as they half-strolled, half-sprinted.

"It is typical for merchants in this city to either change locations or enterprise frequently. They pursue coin whither soever it flows, according to the gathering of crowds or the fleeting whims of the purse. The council cares not for licenses, only that taxes be paid on the sale itself."

They were already at the end of the block, pausing to read the street sign nailed on a torch post, and heading to their right. Slowly they walked past the shops, checking each signage until they found a piece of hide hanging by the door. They quickened their pace and dashed into the store.

"Good morning! Can I help you folks?" a half-orc woman greeted pleasantly, stepping out from behind the counter to meet them.

Irse cheerfully waved at her but froze as the lady came into full view. The half-orc towered over them both, clad from neck to toe in black-dyed rawhide with silver pointy rivets running across the chest and at the sides of her trousers. The woman licked her pierced tusk and assessed them with a measuring eye.

Okami coughed and held out the note. "Pardon us, Madam. But we are seeking an old acquaintance of mine who occupied the third stall in the Street of Hammers. Would you happen to know if this is the person who leased the space before you did?

The woman leaned down to squint at the writing, then straightened herself with a disgusted grunt. "Oh, that man? Yes, he'd been renting the spot back then. Had the bad luck of chancing upon him as they were packing up. Nasty fellow."

"But we need to find him. Would you happen to know where he moved to after he left?" Irse pleaded.

The half-orc crossed her arms. "Ah, yes I would know because he wouldn't stop yammering about how his company's been bleeding gold from every holed pocket. And yet he got to stay in business while at the Hammers for a good half-year while affording to buy some abandoned coster waybase at the docks nearest to the western gate. He's probably still there, if disgruntled customers and workers haven't rioted and burned down that barn already."

Master and apprentice traded relieved glances before bowing and thanking the shopkeeper.

"Oh, does this mean you're leaving so soon? Come now, you can try on some of my merchandise. A bit too loose and I can tighten them up just for you," she suggested with a sly wink.

Okami paled for a moment but smiled nervously. "We appreciate the offer but as you have said, we must hasten to reach him lest a frustrated customer, or more likely, a discontented employee decides to set the waybase on fire."

The half-orc chuckled and wriggled her gloved fingers in fond farewell. "I've taken a fancy to this nook myself, so I'm sure to be staying here for a good while. You two know how to find me anytime," she teased after them as they stepped out of the door.

"She seems like a nice lady, but her business might not be around for long," Irse whispered with pity when they have walked a good distance.

"Why do you think is that?"

The elf furrowed her brows, baffled as she remembered the woman's wares on display.

"For one thing, all of her stuff is in black and looks too stiff to move with. What kind of folks would want to wear black all the time?"

Okami's eyes darted up in search of an answer. "Perhaps, people who shun the light of the sun and prefer the cold of the night?"

"Some of the leather armor on the mannequins are nothing more than straps and buckles, hardly covering anything. Who would go to a fight showing a lot of skin on their torso? Isn't the point of body armor to protect yourself?"

"Perhaps, people who do not fear the blows but rather, revel in pain?"

Irse wrung her hands. "And strangest of all - the leather trousers have _no crotches and bottoms_ on them! What kind of pants are those with the bum out in the sunshine?"

Okami opened his mouth to reply but paused as if unsure of his answer. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps they are unfinished. As she had said herself, the merchandise is customized to the wearer, in itself commanding a higher price."

Irse's eyes glazed over as she imagined the strange leather pantaloons completed with iron or gold-plated behinds, embossed with a family crest or even short chivalrous poetry on each cheek. She pulled at the straps of her pack as they continued to weave their way through the narrow streets, acceding to the mystery of people's preferences for fanciful frocks and frippery.

"It _is_ weird, but I guess some people are just fussy about their bottoms."


	22. Money Tree (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may every seed you plant bear fruit. ;)

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 22 : Money Tree**

* * *

It took another wagon ride to get to the former coster base by the City's western gate. Another crawl through the maze of narrow lanes jammed with people and choked with stores overstepping their bounds, their merchandise displays competing with pedestrians for space. Something dripped, and dripped some more on Irse's head, though she dared not look up lest it be followed by worse, a torrent of something unpleasant. Only when their wagon inched forward did she finally glance up, relieved to find the source merely a line of wash hanging by an upper floor of a tallhouse. The young elf snorted. Hopefully, whoever laundered those clothes were half as thorough as the washerwomen back at home.

But that shouldn't dampen her hope for them having their midday meal on time today. Irse eagerly rubbed her hands together. If the leathers lady's information proved correct, they might even get to meet Okami's acquaintance not too long past noon.

No more running around from store to store at risk of them getting blown to human and elfin bacon bits or bumping into random folks itching to stuff her Teacher into scandalously questionable wear.

Relief doubled in her mind as they crossed the border separating the Lower City and the Docks. _Tymora_ _must be smiling down on them today_ , the young elf praised in her heart, for the carriage driver knew of the place and didn't charge extra for dropping them off at the doorstep.

And then it occurred to her they had merely circled back to the Docks where they started.

The old trade house of chipped brick and wood stood as drab and uncheery as every other structure in the district. Outside, a handful of armed and armored men and women stood milling about - chatting with each other, some smoking a pipe or taking a swig from their waterskin, one of them even dozing standing up and simply leaning against the wall. All seemingly unmindful of the noonday sun beating down upon their heads. Only fleeting, uninterested looks were thrown their way. Odd, why would they prefer to stand out here in the heat and dust and mud and noise and the smell of horses and river water when they could be indoors instead, the elf wondered.

Inside, the coster base appeared sparse and empty save for a lone clerk sitting at the front desk; gaunt, pale and freckled, an eggplant for a nose and nearly balding.

"If you're here about a rude escort, a missing wagon, excessive charges, or desperate enough to even think about working here, then you best come back another day. The boss is too busy," he droned in a nasal half-hearted welcome.

The clerk made a great show of gathering the papers in front of him, snapping them in alignment before slamming the bundle to his left, inadvertently scattering them even more, some falling to the floor. He cast an indifferent side-eye at the discarded sheets and went on to fiddle with the inkbottle to his right.

The pair bowed in greeting. Okami approached and showed him the note.

"Good day. We wish to speak with the owner of the Blackmaul Protection Enterprise."

"Like I said, the boss won't see any complaining customer nor riffraff applying for thug work today."

"We are neither of those. Please inform him, it is the Kozakuran smith he spoke to in Beregost and that I have come to accept his offer."

Scowling, the clerk eyed them from head to toe, leaning over the counter, raising an eyebrow at the blade at Okami's side. He rose from his seat, walked over to a closed door, rapped on the wood a few times, and pushed it ajar to peer inside.

"Mister Kagain, there are people here to see you."

"Customers? Payin' or complainin'?" answered a gravelly voice.

"Neither, Mister Kagain. It's –"

A hoarse wave of curses cut him off, some smattering of Common and another tongue. The clerk scrunched his face and inched his head away from the door.

"By the vermin in Vergadain's vaults! Did I say ye can disturb me when I'm countin' the gold yer wastin' not bringin' in customers, Mister Squard!"

The clerk rolled his eyes as he yelled through the narrow opening, "Not in my job description, Sir. And it's the Kozakuran blacksmith."

Silence. Then the sound of papers crumpled and drawers slammed.

"What? The smith? Took his damned time gettin' here! Well what are you doin' gawkin' at me, Mister Squard? Drag him in!"

 _The man sure sounds like a piece of work._ Irse observed her Teacher, wondering if he thought twice of working for this _gentleman_ , but his face betrayed no hesitation.

Squard beckoned. "Mister Kagain will see you now in his office. But I wouldn't advise bringing the elf with you. Negotiations are usually confidential," he said coolly though his face mocked as if to say - _so the old_ _miser_ _could_ _haggle the nine hells out of your soul_ _in the absence of a living witness._

Okami glanced at his apprentice who gave him a timid thumbs-up. He nodded and walked into the office, the clerk shutting the door behind him.

The first half-hour, Irse sat still on a dusty patched-up couch, drumming fingers on the arm rests then clasping her knees to keep from fidgeting. Ears pricked in the chance of catching anything through the door – a muffled shout or laughter, anything to indicate an interesting discussion. But nothing, only silence. Hopefully and despite her first impression of him, this Kagain might be more reasonable than the last person to try and get something out her Teacher.

Eyes trained on the door. Still closed. _Taking their time._ Eyes darted to the clerk sitting once more at his stool behind the counter, rifling through a chapbook with a bored expression.

"Psst! Hey," Irse called at him. "Mister Squard?"

She pouted as the man ignored her with practiced deliberateness.

"Mister Squard."

But the page on the pamphlet continued to flip with forced intensity.

Finally, an imitation of his boss' raspy call. "Mister _Squaaaaarrrd_?"

Nothing, not even an eyeroll. Impatient, the elf rose from the couch and tiptoed swiftly towards the counter. Miscalculating her speed and the distance, Irse banged a knee against the wood, startling the clerk who yelped and almost dropped his leaflet.

"Do you mind – What do you want?" he snarled, picked up the chapbook, flipped to the last dog-eared page and resumed ignoring the girl.

Irse winced as she rubbed the sore knee. "Sorry about that. But don't you serve tea to your guests while they're waiting?"

Something Winthrop used to do for the patrons – his wife Marna's idea to welcome their visitors with a bit more cheer. Unfortunately, the most miserly and entitled of the customers assumed the gesture of goodwill now meant goods-for-free and insisted the exorbitant room charge already included the price of meals. Effectively putting a stop to the welcoming tea and biscuits, and sadly, to the girls' supply of filched cookies.

"You mean free food. Do we look like we're running a charity house down here?" Squard retorted. He failed to notice the office door opening beside him.

"What's this I'm hearin' about _charity_? Didn't I ban that infernal word within my business premises?" a dwarven man roared as he sprouted up behind the counter next to Squard.

The elf jumped in surprise, but the bored resignation remained plastered on the clerk's face.

"Yes, Mister Kagain. I read that. First paragraph in the company manual, repeated on every page and stamped on the inner and outer covers in case the illiterate misses it."

"Right, Mister Squard. Best ye remember or yer doin' my business some good by kickin' yerself out o' here an' forfeitin' backpay. Now fetch me that ledger with the blank contracts," the dwarf ordered.

Squard sighed and dragged himself into another room, the door opening briefly to give a glimpse of a dusty space and shelves of logbooks and boxes. Irse peered over the counter to get a good look at Kagain. Thickset, squarish, if a squat boulder grew a dark beard and scars, and a mouth harping unceasingly about gold and money and business.

The dwarf must have noticed the pair of eyes scrutinizing him, for he looked up and growled, "Ye the knife-ear with the smith? The nine hells is yer deal with him?"

"I'm his apprentice, Sir."

Kagain guffawed without mirth. "So he says to me. Really, now. One o' yer snotty uppity kind who thinks they're better than everyone else, stoopin' lower than yer boney butts to learn from a mere human! Are the realms so turned topsy-turvy on its bottoms, next thing ye know, the gods are lickin' my arse for holy favors."

Irse opened her mouth, but hesitated, unsure about answering.

"Or maybe they kicked ya out of the treehouse and yer not allowed back in anymore."

She drew back, mouth drawn to a thin line. _Could that be why?_ In her childish dreaming, the imagined story was always an adventure gone wrong, forcing her parents to leave her in Gorion's care. At the very worst - untimely deaths, hopefully at least heroic, with circumstances so tragic, her foster father couldn't bear to reveal any details until she came of age. But to be cast out by her own People? Could she have been the child of pariahs, the only plausible reason for Ulraunt's contempt and Tethoril's pity? _And Gorion's silence._

Kagain must have noticed the cloud upon her countenance for he bared his teeth in a self-satisfied sneer.

"Yeah," he needled, stroking his beard and chuckling to himself. "Kicked ya out for not frolickin' enough like the rest of 'em leaf-sniffin' pansies."

That snapped the world back to the present. She considered his words. Strangely though, rather than getting riled, the elf found herself snickering.

"And ya find it funny now, do ya?"

"That's just the thing, Sir. Everyone in Candlekeep probably wishes I did more frolicking than playing a lark on the monks."

"Candlekeep. The library at the Coast run by human bookmongers."

"It is, Sir. I lived there all of my almost sixteen years alive before I ran away and snucked in a passing caravan heading for the Gate."

Kagain murmured to himself, as if surprised at the idea of an elf fostered by humans. He pointed at her face.

"And what's with yer ear? Rabid dog got to ya?"

"A bandit got to it, Mister Kagain. They attacked along the Coast Way. There wasn't anything we could do, even with the caravan guards." Irse waved a hand to gesture at the general direction of their origin.

For a fleeting moment, the dwarf looked thoughtful, then his eyes hardened. He pointed at the scarred palm.

"That, too?"

Irse paused from gesticulating and looked at her hand. "Yes, Sir."

"Fool, did ya try to stop a sword with yer pinky?"

"Well, it's better than using my face instead, which I bet the bandit was hoping for."

"Huh. Bastard must've been a bad aim."

The elf grinned affably. "He was, I guess. But a good thing that Teacher isn't, or I wouldn't be here." She crossed her forearms and laid them on the counter, leaning forward and resting her chin on a knuckle.

"That's why I'll follow him anywhere, to learn everything he's willing to teach me," Irse added wistfully, the smile gone, voice hushed and earnest.

Kagain narrowed his eyes at her, then turned away and huffed.

"Then ya better not waste _his_ time," he admonished, and squinted at her again. "Because humans don't have a lot of it. Not as _ye_ and yer kind do."

Irse straightened herself and squared her jaw, nodding her promise.

The clerk emerged from the stock room. He dusted the ledger and handed it to his boss who took the book without another word, returning to the office and quietly shutting the door behind him. Squard stared at Irse, apparently surprised, but the elf shrugged her shoulders and went back to waiting at the couch.

* * *

Customary with the type of service in this city, the breadbasket came first with none other following within the half-hour. Irse stared it down with steel in her eyes, the knife stayed in her hand. Okami must have noticed the angry vein in her forehead for he motioned at the waiter to hasten. True enough, two servings each of roasted fowl and tomato and bean stew soon landed on the table in swift succession.

"So, how did you come to know Mister Kagain anyway?" she asked in between slurps.

"I worked for a time in a smithy in Beregost, a few months before I joined the caravan to Baldur's Gate. He used to be a regular customer of ours."

The dwarf ran a mercenary company, hiring themselves to accompany merchants as protection against bandit attacks along the Coast Way or the Uldoon Trail. She wondered if Kagain's men had been their escorts that night.

 _Even if they were, it'd be too late to demand a refund anyway._

Her Teacher continued with his story. Apparently, being a _regular_ customer doesn't always translate into _favorite_ customer. The dwarf was notorious for haggling and bargaining down to the last copper and patina on the coin edges, finding fault or changing the terms, anything to push everything to his favor. To the point that the exasperated smithy owner expressly instructed his workmen to never give discounts, not even a hint, to Kagain. Though that didn't stop the pinchfist from trying, having succeeded with either bribing or bullying the hapless staff in the owner's frequent absence.

Then one day, Kagain tried it on one newly-hired Kozakuran, probably thinking to himself - surely a lone foreigner, a stranger in town and in want of _friends and connections_ , would eagerly oblige the demands of a _big name_ customer.

Irse pursed her lip. "What did you do?"

"My employer's commands were clear. Though Mister Kagain's gifts would have benefitted my pocket, I knew the terms and prices he desired will be detrimental to my employer's interests over the days of the contract."

Irse bobbed her head in righteous agreement. "And what did he say?"

"He called me a fool and the vilest of names before he stormed out of the shop."

She frowned, indignant at the injustice, fuming at the imagined scene of that dwarf wrongly insulting her Teacher in front of others, a familiar feeling bubbling and boiling beneath the surface.

Had she been there, she might have given the old crab a piece of her mind and whatever she was holding in her hand during the moment.

 _What if it's a turkey leg, though._ The young elf paused and puffed her cheek. All right then, maybe just a piece of her mind.

Okami continued, "Yet within the day he returned and offered me a place and contract to practice my smithing for him here in Iriaebor where he runs another branch of his business."

"He did?" Irse blurted out. "And he told you he's sorry and he's only testing to see if you're an honest fellow," she added expectantly, proud of her Teacher vindicated.

Okami shrugged. "He did not. He was truly expecting to get his way."

"Oh."

"But he seemed convinced I am least likely to defraud him, hence, the proposal. When my contract with the smithy expired, I thought it a welcome chance to venture here."

Irse gripped the mug of tea but didn't raise it to her lips. Admittedly, this man, however mean and selfish, was responsible for her Teacher making the journey north. But what if Okami had decided instead to seek his living in the wealthy cities of the south?

She shivered and exhaled, knocking on the wooden bench to reassure the self she was truly here and not in the funeral pyre where she might have ended in.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon gave way to acquiring supplies, tools, and a few other basics for their new lodgings – a cottage with an adjoining smithy in the hamlet of Dearg along the Dusk Road, a journey of a few miles north of Iriaebor. Most likely something akin to Mister Filmon's set-up at the village where she did her first forging. Just as well, Irse thought to herself. Far better than squeezing themselves like roaches among the crammed tallhouses in the city proper. A quiet, wide, and open place - like the Keep but without walls.

Rather than have themselves lug around a house and smithy's worth of equipment, her Teacher wisely hired a porter - a young man and a wooden wain to carry their purchases through the stream of trade and people.

Along the way, Okami explained the agreement with Kagain. A simple arrangement – her Teacher would repair and forge weapons for the company and under a contract, previously held by another smith who left for more glittering pastures in Waterdeep. Nonetheless, a favorable deal given the assurance of a steady flow of work. But then, the elf wondered if Kagain going through the trouble of securing a blacksmith for his own company was due to none other in the city willing to have anything to do with the crusty dwarf; or His Miserliness thinking every breathing soul in Iriaebor existed only to con him out of his gold and thus preferred an honest outsider.

Fortunately, Okami made it clear they could get still commissions from others or be free to sell their output in the open market by the North Gate.

 _Not a fly in his ale_ , the dwarf had said, so long as they prioritized his orders and paid him rent on time.

 _Rent?_ Well, who did they think owned the title to the smithy and cottage they will be staying in?

Irse smirked and looked askance ahead of her, imagining the churlish dwarf rolling in celebration around the thatched roof of their hut, tossing their rent money in the air then quickly wriggling down the wall like a fat black bug to hungrily snatch the coin once more. Chuckling to herself, she picked up pace, strolling alongside the cart and casting a glance at her Teacher, preoccupied with discussing directions with their porter.

Everything should be fine, she reasoned with herself; whatever happens in the coming days, as long as the old skinflint doesn't dicker them out of a fair deal, then _nothing's going to be a fly in her pudding._


	23. Underfoot (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, my utmost thanks for your patience with these wanderers. ;)

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 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 23: Underfoot**

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Okami scrutinized a cooking pot with the gravity of a general inspecting his soldiers' weapons. Hefting it between his hands to check for weight, scanning the surface for rust or discoloration. None would be surprised if he loaded the vessel into a catapult and fired it at a nearby wall for a standard test of quality control.

"Not deep enough for you?" the halfling woman shopkeeper grumbled. "Are you trying to feed an entire army?"

Irse poked at the soup ladles hanging at the display rack, then realized something of _severe importance_.

"Ah, Teacher?" she began diffidently, pausing to wait for him to notice her. "Am I… doing the _cooking_?"

"No. Your duties are to the forge as part of your learning."

"But I can cook too," she insisted.

Okami raised an eyebrow. Irse grinned. Certainly, he must be recalling that one day when Nells felt a bit under the weather and the young elf volunteered to cook on top of her dish washing duties.

Breakfast, with Shar-Teel yelling how could anyone possibly burn cold porridge, Dotie grousing at the shells in her fried eggs. Then lunch, with Shar-Teel swearing she was served the Sea of Swords in a soup bowl, and Dotie grumbling of the buttered beans cracking teeth and a dwarven pickaxe. Finally dinner, well, her Teacher had decided to intervene. They dined that night on expertly filleted and seasoned pan-fried trout, though Shar-Teel swore it was the last time she would ever give a man the chance to _poison_ her.

"Right. You do the cooking, I'll do the dishes," she pronounced, relieved when he said nothing more and resumed inspecting the pot.

The implements were paid for and loaded into the wain. Now to find an herbalist selling san qi to replenish their supply since all of it must have been spent on her, the young elf supposed with a pinch of guilt. Along the way, they passed by a kiosk selling used books. She broke away from the cart and scooted closer to catch a glimpse of the titles. At the first stack the young elf turned up her nose - histories, philosophies and poetry. But with the next heap, one with tomes clearly having seen better days, the girl stayed to pick a book or two, beaming at the titles before setting them down. One in tatty and faded green covering caught her eye, eagerly snatched up, leafed through, cradled for a moment.

"A book you have read at your old home?" Okami inquired as he stepped in beside her.

Irse hastily replaced the tome on top of the pile and waved him away as he leaned over the desk. "Yes, but it's nothing I probably need. Let's go," she dismissed curtly and rushed out of the stall. But the blacksmith lingered, surveying the rest of the books before leaving as well.

None of the herbalists in the market carried san qi. Not a surprise, with the powder derived from a rare root grown only in Kara-Tur. Fortunately at the last stall they came upon, the shop keeper offered them _bloodstaunch_ as a substitute. After agreeing on the price and quantity of the items, Okami excused himself, informing them that he wished to check back on one of the shops they visited earlier. His apprentice nodded her assent, affirming she would stay and wait for the shop keeper to prepare their purchases.

 _Perhaps to the kitchen shop to buy an extra-sturdy potholder,_ she presumed.

"So, you use it just like san qi?" Irse turned to quiz the herbalist who spooned the crushed herb into small pouches.

"You do, and it's more common around these parts," he replied before stepping away to instruct his assistant in knotting each of the tiny bags.

Meanwhile, their porter loaded another sack into the cart, the glass bottles within giving out a faint clink as he set them down among their purchases. Healing potions likewise bought from the herbalist. Just then, Okami returned with a tightly wrapped bundle that he wedged in next to the tools.

"For the smithy, just in case?" she pointed to the bag of potions _._

"Unless you fail to exercise caution and take heed as I teach you to," he answered. "Otherwise, you will not need them at all when we are working in the forge."

"Ah-ha, they're for the lessons," she jested, then sobered when Okami seemed apologetic.

"Faerun is not a place of bamboo grass as we have in our homeland which we use to make _shinai_ – a practice sword lighter and flexible compared to the bokken."

The disclosure made her wince, remembering the impact of solid wood against the slaver guard's flesh. _Well then, what did sages always say? No Pain, No Grain?_ Must have been some nose-to-grindstone farmer who said that.

The herbalist and his assistant completed re-packing the bloodstaunch, the small pouches put into another bag which Irse carried back to the wain.

"Miss, you dropped one of 'em," the assistant called after her.

She looked down at her feet. "Planning to escape, little fella'?" the elf teased and promptly scooped up the fallen pouch from the ground, absently stuffing it in her pocket.

They set off for the terminal at the North Gate to hire a wagon to Dearg. Unfortunately, the quickest way would have to cut through the market square, presently packed with crowds, kiosks erected in defiant disarray all over and in the middle of the avenue, and haphazardly parked caravans. The ocean of humanity flowed and swelled without signs of abating; not even a pirate armada could sail through unimpeded.

"I know a side street 'round and away from the square. Always use that shortcut myself," the porter suggested.

What he boasted as a shortcut turned out to be a series of winding gaps between the houses. Commonfolk passed through as well, though the corridors left little space to walk side-by-side. More than once did they have to back off to let through another cart meeting them head-on and already closer to the exit. They navigated another alleyway, narrower than the others for the walls seemed to close in together, leaving room enough for them to walk only in a straight procession. Her Teacher lead the way with the porter bringing up the rear. Suddenly he halted and turned to face them.

"Stop," he commanded. "Draw your bokken," Okami said to her.

"What's the matter?" Irse blurted out, alarmed.

"All is well. I only wish to show you something."

Relieved, she casually pulled the wooden sword from her pack. Upon fully drawing it out, the tip struck the wall, eliciting an irritated grunt from the elf before she raised it at mid-guard. Okami considered her stance for a second then waved his hand.

"Put it through your belt. Unsheathe as if in rapid-draw, _battojutsu_."

Irse grasped the length of the bokken as if it were in a scabbard and pulled with her right hand. Barely freed from the belt, the wooden sword thumped against the wall to her left. Annoyed, the elf shuffled to her right, replacing the bokken once more in her belt and prepared to draw again. Okami motioned for her to pause.

"What did you observe?"

She pondered for a moment. "This space is too tight. I keep hitting the wall. What more if it's a real sword, like one of the bigger, longer ones?" A comical picture came to mind, of her waving a greatsword, the huge blade getting nowhere and eventually stuck in between loose bricks, yanking and pushing and grunting as the stupid thing refused to budge.

"Correct. A moment's delay and disruption in your flow could cost you your life. In close quarters such as this, it is preferable to fight with a smaller weapon such as a dagger."

"Right."

"But what if you have none and all you have is your sword or a larger weapon?"

"You run, of course."

"And if the way is barred and they are already upon you?" he probed further. Then Okami stepped back, clutched his scabbard and drew his sword. In a flash and without hindrance, the blade hung free in the air between them.

Irse blinked. "How? Yours is longer than mine!"

He re-sheathed and showed her his grip. "A minor alteration in the method. Recall how the sword follows an initial path oblique to the horizon as it leaves the scabbard and strikes?"

Brows furrowed in recollection of the lessons. "Yes," she replied.

Her Teacher demonstrated once more, unhurriedly, blade leaving the sheathe in a more upright trajectory to steer clear of the walls, finishing likewise at _chudan_.

"Oh," she breathed, but then wrung her hands. "Hey, not fair. You did it differently, I can tell. You brought your sword all the way to the back, then some flippy-flippy with your wrist!"

His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "You were referring to this?" He re-sheathed then drew, almost pivoting to his right, the sword twirling towards the back but completing the circle with an upswing to the front. All with swift and fluid ease, seemingly a mere flick of the wrist.

Irse leaned forward and glared at the blade, eyes narrowing in challenge. But it will be a great while more before he would let her try on her own. She straightened and looked to him, awaiting the lesson.

"Examine your surroundings, even briefly. When you are familiar with the length and path of your blade, you will know how to turn the hindrances of your environment into a virtue to establish your advantage."

Eyes widened in understanding. "And if I have a mop instead?" she kidded.

Her Teacher returned the sword to its sheathe and shrugged. "Pray you also have a bucket to throw at your opponent."

 _Hopefully, a piss bucket full to the brim,_ she imagined, smirking with impish glee, then coughed when Okami shot her a strange look. They resumed their march through the alleyways until they came upon one a bit wider yet empty, save for a lone man stumbling and grasping at the wall. Okami halted, possibly assessing him – perhaps a drunk, or ill of body or mind, or an opportunistic fraud. Irse peered from behind her Teacher. The man wore a finely made gambeson though torn at the side; blood trickled down his trousers.

"He's hurt," she pointed out.

"Get the bandages and bloodstaunch," Okami instructed as he himself approached the wounded fellow.

But the man raised a hand and laid another at the dagger in his holster. "No, stay away," he stammered.

"We mean you no harm, we only wish to aid you," the blacksmith assured him, taking the other's elbow.

"I said stay away. Don't get involved," the man warned as he shoved at Okami and rushed for the exit.

Seeing her Teacher stagger against the wall and the man coming up to her, Irse let go of the bag. She intercepted him and managed to grab his arm as he ran past their wain.

She yelled, "Hey, what's the matter with you? We're only trying to-"

And then a flash of... _black?_ Followed by an odd sensation of being pulled through a funnel of wind.

In a mere blink, her world, the brick walls and the cobblestone street had been replaced by tapestries, plush furniture, and velvet carpeting on the floor. The searing sunlight gone, replaced by the dim glow of magelights ensconced along the walls.

Bewildered, the girl let go of his arm. "Where are we? Where's everything? Where's Teacher?" she cried, breath heaving in panicked gasps. _What is this place; how did everything suddenly change? How, when not even another step had been taken?_

"I teleported us to an underground safehold," the man replied in a pained voice. "No, just myself, but _you_ got dragged along because you touched me. You should've left me alone like I told you." He hauled himself to an ornate dresser and clumsily wrenched at a drawer. Visibly seeking anything for his wound and finding none, he cursed and slammed it shut.

"We've got every bottle of wine from all over the realms, but dammit, not even a single roll of bandages. Blast you, Herry. Told him last month to check the stocks every week," he muttered and collapsed at the adjacent couch. With effort, he unbuttoned and removed his gambeson, tossing the ruined jacket to the floor and pressing a hand against his side.

Irse spun around but saw no door nor window, only walls. _Impossible_. Obviously they got here by magic, but there has to be a hidden entry somewhere, perhaps behind the hangings. She squinted at each painting, each tapestry.

Something like this always figured in the chapbooks of bardic tales and adventure mysteries, frowned upon by Ulraunt for being the _lowest form of literature_ in his lofty opinion _._ And in those stories, always it was the ones with the most boring picture or a portrait of the ugliest ancestor hiding the secret switch to the secret exits. But every single one only portrayed a hunting scene. _Whoever commissioned these really likes shooting at deer in the forest._

"Might I interest you in a glass of wine as I tell you the glorious tale behind each portrayal of my Uncle's grand annual hunting expeditions in Cloakwood," the man offered. "While I bleed to death, surrounded by ironic reminders of how today I myself became the hunted and prey."

Irse gave up searching for a way out and plopped down sulkily next to him. Perhaps he would be more inclined to return her to the alleyway if she helped him first. The elf removed the man's hand and lifted a bit of his shirt to check on the wound.

"Slash or stab?" she inquired.

Despite his pain, the man chuckled. "Just a slash. Or two, I think. But a wickedly sharp blade, likely enchanted. Went right through my gambeson and shirt." He looked down and frowned at the beginnings of a stain on the upholstery. "Uncle Aldeth will have my hide for ruining his brand-new couch. Though I told him a pallet should suffice for a mere safehold. "

He flashed a weak yet cocky grin. "I'm _Dabron_ , by the way. Dabron Sashenstar."

"Irse," she murmured back absently without even pausing to acknowledge him. His disappointment didn't escape her notice - an embarrassed wince at her lack of recognition and admiration. Obviously a nobleman, shoulder-length chestnut hair smelling faintly of pomade, the face perhaps somewhat fetching though with overly patrician features - a lot of jaw and a nose that could put an eye out.

From a mahogany desk, she swiped a small vase and the doily on which it rested, unceremoniously discarding the cut blossoms and pouring its water on the delicate cloth. With the dampened doily, she wiped the blood off the wound, pausing to pluck a torn fiber or thread from the skin.

"Oh good, at least Herry remembered to replace the flowers yesterday," he pointed out dryly. "You seem to know what you're doing, though."

She merely shrugged in reply. The young elf had seen enough, watching Brother Karan treat an injured laborer or kitchen worker with herbs and bandages every now and then. Healing potions were reserved for the Avowed as much as possible. And then a pained memory of being on the receiving end herself.

"I could patch you up, but much better if we could do something about the bleeding in case you cut a big vein, I dunno," Irse mumbled. Brother Karan always talked of a major artery or vein being hit somewhere whenever someone was bleeding all over the infirmary cot. Sighing, she patted at the side of her trousers in a gesture of resignation. Her palm felt a small lump through pocket. _The bloodstaunch she picked up from the floor at the herbalist's shop._ Now to find something to seal it with.

"Dagger?" she requested. Dabron unsheathed one from his holster and handed it over, handle facing her. She took the blade and went to one of the tapestries, cutting through the cloth at the bottom.

"Pity you didn't start with Uncle Aldeth's face," he joked hoarsely.

Irse huffed as she ripped out the entire length of the tapestry's base. He didn't seem too fazed at such a close call with death. One might wonder what he has already seen and lived through. She returned to his side, took out the pouch and emptied the bloodstaunch into her hand. Dabbing the crushed herb at the wound, adding bit by bit until the cut was fully covered, using the tapestry cloth for a makeshift bandage on his abdomen.

"There, that should do until you get yourself to a proper healer," Irse said as she tucked in the edges. "Which I don't see any around here unless you can teleport to one, however you did it."

"How? With _this_."

He tugged at a silvery chain around his neck and pulled out the pendant from within his shirt and over his head to show to her - a palm-sized nondescript stone wrapped with twine. Irse peered at it, amazed that an ordinary pebble could perform such a feat.

"We had a mage from Neverwinter craft this _stone of recall_ for us, one of a handful for my family. Specially made to teleport the bearer to places where the wardstone is attuned to, like our safeholds, the headquarters, our houses, as well as return us to the last place we've been. A fine thing to have on your person when you find yourself in danger or in a trade meeting with idiots. I only need to touch it and think of my destination."

"Then you can easily take me back to the alley," she pressed him.

Dabron's mood dampened. "Assassins from a rival merchant guild are pursuing me. Among them a wizard who managed to block the magic from my wardstone. Only Tymora's luck helped me get away from them, just far enough to let me try again and activate the recall spell."

He leaned back in the couch and solemnly dangled the pendant in front of him, the chain loosely coiled around his palm. "Forgive me, Irse. As much as I'm grateful for your help, I prefer not to jump right back under the same sword after my neck. My pursuers will have surely come upon your companions. Hopefully, only interrogating them and nothing more. Besides, it's safer if we wait here or I teleport us to our manor."

 _So, he won't help her at all_. Panic raced through the mind as quandaries piled on top of one another. If Dabron could at least take them to another place, how would she find Okami in such a large city? Possibly, he might report her disappearance to the city watch. And yet, what if they're in cahoots with the other merchant guild?

Worse, if those hunting Dabron were to turn upon her Teacher and the porter out of frustration? Against armed foes, she feared not for him; but mention of a wizard among the assassins had brought back the grim reminder of human helplessness against a mere wand that day at the banks of Chionthar. What else could she do when more than walls kept her here? Fists clenched, unclenched, fingernails scraped at the knees, fidgeting.

 _That's it._ She slammed a fist on the upholstery between them. "I'm sorry. But I _will_ get back there, even if I must tear down every brick in this place to climb out of here," Irse declared as she reached over and snatched the pendant. Dabron yelped in surprise just as the chain yanked his hand.

A singular thought flashed in the mind as fingers closed around the stone of recall. _Teacher._

All surrounding finery as well as the couch disappeared beneath them, and they landed on their haunches on the cobblestones of the alleyway. Okami stood over them, stunned, while the porter crouched behind the wain, peeking cautiously over the pile of their belongings. And what a sight they must have made, sitting side-by-side, Dabron grasping her arm, caught in the very act of attempting to stop her from activating the wardstone now in her hand.

"Hi," she sheepishly greeted just as Okami swiftly pulled the elf from the ground and set her behind him. At hearing the familiar click of the hilt being released from the scabbard, she shouted, unthinking of her words.

"Wait! _Don't slice off his limbs!_ "

Everyone stared at her.

"That is quite… specific," Okami remarked with a side-eye at his apprentice.

Irse scrunched her shoulders and grinned awkwardly. Well, _that_ was what _she_ would've done had her Teacher been taken instead of her.

Dabron rose to his feet, clutching protectively at his side. "Fear not, your elven friend is unhurt. I was only afraid she might accidentally use the wardstone to teleport us somewhere unsafe."

Without easing from his stance, Okami turned his head to her. "Is this true?" Seeing his apprentice bob her head, he relaxed.

"I didn't mean to spirit her away. But you must understand, there are hired blades after me. I only did what I could to save myself," Dabron reasoned.

Okami removed his hand from the hilt. "Your pursuers arrived after you disappeared. I told them the truth, that you vanished before my eyes. They seemed to believe me for one among their number spoke of teleportation."

Irse tugged at her Teacher's sleeve. He and the porter appeared unharmed, but the worry wouldn't subside so easily. "Did they do anything to you?" she whispered.

"They asked and threatened, but only those," he replied with a reassuring smile, evidently noting the concern in her eyes. "Nothing that required me to draw my sword to defend myself and our companion."

Relief washed over her. She approached Dabron and returned the wardstone to him. "I dressed his wound with bloodstaunch. He's also with the merchant guilds," she told her Teacher.

"I see. Had not Lord Bron and his council put a stop to the hostilities?" Okami questioned the other man.

"Our company, the Merchant's League, is not of this City. We hail from the Gate, but I do know what you mean. We've only recently established a representative bureau here but apparently the entrenched guilds aren't too happy about interlopers sniffing for opportunities in their territory."

"You should tell the council about this. Let them know what happened to you so they can punish the other guild for trying to have you killed," she urged.

"Oh, the council knows of these incidents for sure. But they deem it unnecessary to march against the merchants once more, so long as there's no open bloodshed as in the days past."

Dabron slipped the silver chain over his head. "I truly appreciate what you have done for me. However, I must take my leave of you now, lest they return."

"Will you be all right?" Irse said.

"I will be, much thanks to you," Dabron replied with a smile. "I'm sorry I don't have any gold or wealth with me right now to properly repay you. But know that from this day forward, you are friends of House Sashenstar. Tymora always smile upon you."

The merchant waved at them, touched the stone of recall, and vanished.

They resumed their trek to the North Gate in pensive silence. Irse cast one more look at the spires of the Old City behind them. Could the safehold be under one of those towers? All that wealth and luxury to allay the knowledge that a rival could simply order your demise as if your life meant less than a house of gold or a caravan of goods. A comfortable yet disturbing existence. And yet, Dabron carried on as if such things were expected, ordinary happenings to plan for as you would a picnic or a simple chore, the fatal consequences a mere forethought.

She wrinkled her nose. "You'd think all these noblefolk with riches enough to live their lives safely and in comfort needn't kill each other for even more gold."

"Greed for wealth and power blinds even the most learned and strips them of reason and humanity, so that violence becomes a mere routine in their sight."

"And look what could've happened. What if ordinary people get caught in between? The council already made it against the law for them to keep fighting and still they do it anyway."

Okami nodded sternly, the corner of his lip crooking in distaste. "Be not surprised at the stubbornness of man. You can send heralds in every corner of the realms to announce that the battles are to be stopped. But you can never send one to a man's heart to tell him the war is over."

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Dusk had already fallen by the time they arrived at Dearg. Friendly village watchmen led them to their new lodgings, tailed by a small procession of curious neighbors. Word certainly spread fast for visitors had come calling within the hour. Grizzled farmers eager to lay eyes and opinion on the man who would be fixing their ploughs and tools, and their wives who took it upon themselves to tidy up the cottage, taking the chance to steal any gossip-worthy bit about their new residents.

"Poor thing, you must be hungry from such a long journey," the womenfolk cooed and fussed over the young elf who wolfed down the pies they brought with them.

"Everything tastes so good! I feel as if I'm at a midwinter feast," Irse exclaimed, eyes glistening with happiness, cheeks and chin stained with pie filling. The women beamed and murmured with approval among themselves, not a few boasting of proof now obtained that their very human fare had been deemed worthy of, in their opinion, sophisticated elven tastes.

The village folk finally left a little before midnight and the two busied themselves with unpacking their belongings. Inside the cottage were no more than a table, a few stools, a shelf, and a fireplace. At least the dirt floor remained dry and well-tamped down, suitable for laying on bedrolls for the night. First thing to be done in the morning would be to find a carpenter among the villagers, task him to make any necessary repairs, make two beds, and partitions to serve as makeshift rooms for each of them. Then, get the forge up and running.

The elf rummaged through her pack and spied a swathed bundle sitting atop the pile of tools. She unwrapped it and found a handful of books. _Books!_ She grabbed two of the topmost tomes and skimmed the titles.

She read one and whistled. _The Aesthetics of Large-Scale Armed Conflict._ Goodness, what kind of war would she be fighting to have to read something like this? Must be some aggressive swamp rats and mosquitoes here in the countryside.

And the other one made her smile for it reminded her of Brother Karan's lessons about the cosmos. _So You Can't Find Your Way to the Outhouse in the Fields At Night (A Novice's Guide to Celestial Navigation)._

She waved the tomes at her Teacher. "You returned to the book stall for _these?_ "

Okami nonchalantly plucked at a lint on his sleeve. "What manner of mentor would I be if I allowed your apprenticeship to interfere with the education your foster father had given you?"

Irse gathered another one to show to him. The book with the green cover. "This one! I used to read this back at home! _The Fabulist's Parables"_ she said, pleasantly surprised. "Fables about talking animals told by some slave who lived in Chessenta, hundreds of years ago."

"Then you know of the wisdom hidden in those tales."

 _How could she forget? A recollection of an elven child sitting by the fountain at the courtyard. A warmer than usual Mirtul, the grass almost absent from the parched earth, laborers complaining of it being too hot to be out in the midday heat, and the fountain the sole source of cool relief. Yet despite the burning noonday sun, Irse leaned over the marble rim, transfixed, watching the birds watering themselves. Gorion had come upon his foster child and sat down next to her in the same quiet observation._

 _A raven flew down and perched right at the water's edge. Irse shrank back. Gorion must have sensed the child's fear for he put a comforting hand on her shoulder._

" _I know of an old tale about a raven, a Chessentan fable. Would you like to hear it?"_

 _The child bobbed her head but kept her eyes trained at the creature lest it try something funny at them. Gorion then recounted the fable of the thirsty raven who found a pitcher of water but couldn't reach deep into it. But being wise and determined, the bird flew down to the ground and picked small pebbles, dropping them into the pitcher until the water rose high enough for it to drink._

" _Little by little, by using our wits, and by not giving up, we surely achieve what we desire," Gorion intoned the lesson._

 _"Why didn't it just push the pitcher to get the water out? Isn't it faster that way?"_

 _"Perhaps, that's something a naughty and impatient raven might do!" He reached down and pinched the girl's nose. Irse giggled and grabbed at his fingers until he let go._

 _"No. If it had done so, the water would've spilled and soaked into the ground. Haven't I told you? Haste makes waste."_

" _Yes, father, you always do. All right, so it's a smart bird," Irse agreed. "But it's still bad luck. Master Ulraunt said so."_

 _The sage chuckled and patted at her head. "Nothing more than superstition, Irse. Nothing but words and fears when one doesn't understand the world around them."_

" _But everyone believes it. Even the monks."_

" _That's what the people here have chosen to think." He leaned down to whisper in her ear, as if meaning to reveal a great secret._ _"But do you know what people in other lands say of the raven?"_

 _Irse shook her head._

" _In the east, in Kozakura and Wa, they believe the appearance of the bird is a sign of the will of the gods, their divine hands working in the affairs of humans."_

" _But- but the Watchers say those birds eat dead people!" The child clutched at her foster father's hand in fear._

 _At her words, the raven flapped its wings and snapped its beak at them, as if disputing the charge. Irse jerked, startled. Gorion beamed soothingly._

" _Yes, that's… what they do. But for the men of the east, seeing these birds descending upon the fallen in the battlefield is a sign of their gods cleansing the aftermath of tragedy. A chance for renewal and rebirth. Even tribes in the wilds and wastelands carve the raven in their totems. To them it symbolizes not only death but the rebirth and wisdom that arises from the passing of mortality."_

 _Irse wrinkled her nose. "Eh, what? I don't understand a lot of it, Father. But if you say so, then I won't be afraid of it anymore."_

 _She grinned as Gorion laughed heartily and took her hand. They walked together towards the kitchens, the child stealing confident glances at the raven which cocked its head curiously at them before spreading its wings and taking to the skies._

Irse smiled at the memory. She mouthed her thanks at Okami who nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The elf carried the books to an old shelf in one corner, but noticed a lone pamphlet stuffed among the pages. She yanked it out and raised an eyebrow at the title.

" _Stretch Your Copper and Cook More – The Humble Goodwife's Guide to Feeding A Large Family for Less,"_ she read aloud and slowly.

Okami crisply snatched the pamphlet from her hands. He cleared his throat and hurriedly stuffed the chapbook in his short robe.

"Perhaps a free leaflet thrown in as a token of thanks for the purchase. Kindling for the stove. Think nothing more of it," he said with hasty disinterest.

Irse canted her head, puzzled, then shrugged her shoulders and went back to emptying out her pack.

Finally, they settled down for the night. The girl tugged the blanket over herself and pondered on her journey so far. Not too long ago she expected to live her entire life behind the Keep's walls. Yet in a span of weeks, she had lain her head on the ground, in a ship's cabin, in a luxurious inn at a city where her foster father likely lived for a time during his youth.

And now _here_.

In the darkness she gazed up at the rafters, staring until sleep finally came and dimmed the line between the wooden beams above their heads and the stars shining in her dreams.


	24. Upon the Ground a Fallen Leaf (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may the seeds you have sown become a harvest abundant.

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 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 24: Upon the Ground a Fallen Leaf**

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 _Autumn_. And upon the ground a fallen leaf.

While others now blanketing the earth had chosen brown, yellow, and orange for their shrouds, this one hued itself in both red and gold. Two halves joined, sharing the same face and the same veins.

A small thing, unexpectedly catching the eye. An impulse seized her - to reach out and pick it up, examine, admire, then slip the fragile piece in between the pages of a book. To dry and preserve for posterity, just as she and Imoen had done with flower petals and dead butterflies.

 _And one living cockroach in Brother Nador's book._

Except, the leaf lay at the tip of the dislocated ring finger of the sword hand.

Gingerly she attempted to lift the bokken. Curling all fingers caused them to drag against the earth, including the broken one. Pain shot up from wrist to arm, but she stiffened her lip and focused on flexing just the unhurt digits. Sweat beaded on the forehead, a drop straying to her eye, momentarily fogging sight. She wiped her face with the back of the other hand, snorting at the glimpse of her trousers, grimed with dust, a bit of blood where a knee had scraped during a miscalculated fall.

"Up," he commanded.

More out of stubbornness than obedience, Irse rose to her feet and positioned the bokken in _kasumi_. Seeing her at the ready once more, Okami held out his own practice sword but raised an eyebrow, not at the wood and arms unsteady from weariness, but clearly at the finger she couldn't force around the hilt, slightly raised above its sisters.

"Take a healing draught before we resume," he said. _Standard offer after each hit_.

"Nah. Save it until the next finger. Or three."

"As you wish."

Again, they charged at each other – one of them in the confidence of years behind his craft, the other in foolhardy haste, expecting speed would compensate for the handicap. Each of her strikes were parried without effort, concluded by a solid blow to her side. And another. And another. And another.

 _All right all right you've made your point,_ Irse nearly shouted at him when she finally broke away.

Graciously, he stepped further back to give her space as she panted and clutched at the bruised rib.

 _No time to rest,_ Irse demanded of herself, charged and switched to _jodan,_ wooden sword above head. She attacked with a down cut but Okami drew his from the side and blocked; with fluid motion concurrently deflecting the blow to the right and circling his bokken without pause to rest the false edge at her neck.

A true blade unhindered would have decapitated with seamless grace.

Frustrated, the elf snarled, not at her defeat but at his unbroken composure. Roughly she swatted his weapon away from her neck and pushed against him, thrusting repeatedly and savagely to aim for his torso as she advanced.

Yet each time, wood found naught but air as he blocked or slipped past every single stab. Finally he sidestepped as she pressed forward, his bokken arcing to smack heavily on the back. Clumsily she spun to try and counter, but his second stroke landed clean on her sword hand.

Irse stumbled backwards; numbing soreness radiating between the shoulder blades, damaged finger now joined by another. Permitting herself a brief wince at the mounting pain, she strained at the grip with the remaining uninjured digits.

Okami lowered his practice sword and sighed. "How many more of them must we sacrifice before you abandon an unfruitful path and take another?"

He was right, well, about the fingers. Inability to maintain proper grip would keep her from swinging the weapon correctly.

But to answer his question… "Until I've run out of fingers and taught my toes to grip and you break each of them too, Teacher," Irse declared and launched herself for the attack.

Rather than another parry, he grabbed her collar and shoulder, and the world spiraled from sky to earth. She found herself down, a knee once more on the ground but the sword arm wrenched behind. With his right hand he twisted her wrist while the other pressed down on the elbow. Irse gritted her teeth, the pain forcing an angry gasp. _He's going to break the arm._

Then without warning he readjusted the first finger. She yelped and instinctively writhed, a hurting animal struggling to free itself from the trap, but Okami held fast. He realigned the other finger; to her ears, the pop of joints louder than her cry. As soon as he let go, she drew her arm to herself and sat on the grass. Eyes misting with pain, she clutched the aching hand and glared at him.

Her Teacher returned an apologetic nod. He took out a vial, one he always kept tucked in his sash, and extended the potion to his apprentice.

"I thought you've already fixed them," Irse questioned, delicately rubbing the still sore fingers.

He rolled his eyes and edged the vial closer to her. "For any other hurts you are disregarding in the name of your obstinate pride."

Irse accepted but hesitated. However, Okami shot her a stern look carrying the threat of a good bop with the bokken for being such a bullhead. Conceding, she downed the contents of the entire bottle, face brightened with relief at the fading of all aches in her limbs and everywhere else. A fond memory of old chores came to her – of the rugs she had been tasked to beat with sticks. _Have always wondered how a rug would feel like each time it's hit,_ Irse mused wryly as she kneaded at a spot where she knew a mean bruise had bloomed earlier.

"Thanks, Teacher. Now I can wield a fork again for supper tonight," she muttered as she got to her feet and patted at her trousers.

"Tonight," Okami murmured as if remembering something. "The village will gather for the final rite of the Burning Maiden."

"The… Burning Maiden. The closing of Highharvestide," Irse echoed, recalling when she first learned of Dearg's autumnal customs from Kerda, one of the village girls, dark-haired and freckled, an industrious and gentle soul who had become fast friends with the young elf.

Only more than a year ago when they arrived at Dearg in Kythorn, the months swiftly passing; the _Time of Flowers_ wilting into the _Fading_ and the annual harvest. Kerda had been thrilled to initiate the newcomer into the village's Highharvestide activities.

An ancient farming community, Dearg continued to hold on to traditions planted long before the marble spires of Iriaebor rose to the skies. The first tenday from the gathering of the first sheaf, the village busied itself with storing and preserving the harvest for the coming cold.

Everything culminated on the final night with a feast where everyone in the village, great and small, gathered at the main square to burn the Maiden - a straw effigy dressed in a gown of flowers and bundles of wheat. A solemn remembrance of the village's founding and of the first yet unnamed wisewoman who offered herself as a sacrifice to the old spirits of the land in exchange for a bountiful harvest - in itself a miracle for legend claimed that the first settlers arrived in the flatlands barely a month away from the onset of winter.

 _Sounds morbid,_ Irse had confessed her first impression but Kerda reassured her otherwise.

True, the thought of a person burning to death was frightful, but Kerda pointed out with deep pride how the ritual centered instead on the wisewoman's selflessness and reverence for the land – as demonstrated by the act of the village girls offering their firstfruits whether of the harvest or the work of their hands.

Curious and eager to belong, Irse had enlisted with the preparations, helping the villagers after work and lessons. At the night of Highharvestide, Okami himself couldn't attend, preoccupied with Mister Kagain's ill-timed requests, and thus the elf had opted to go alone. She had joined the girls in the procession to the bonfire, her firstfruit a simple dagger she forged herself.

Everything had been fine until she cast the blade into the fire. And looked up at the Burning Maiden. And _saw_.

Everything thereafter had been a blur. They told her she first trembled violently then clung to the girls around her, wide-eyed, shuddering and whimpering in terror. Finally her body went limp and they laid her down on the ground where she curled to her side and watched with glazed eyes at the fire. The wisewoman, kindly old Daserah, had told everyone to stand back and give her breathing space.

 _Not truly a blur. She had been seeing clearly. The burning woman alone filled her sight, still and unscreaming, the flames so brilliant they darkened the rest of the world. Another was there with her. Another in tears, who wept as firelight glistened on their bloodied hands. The vision had felt familiar, as if it were an echo of the dream which drove her out of her former home to seek answers – a dream which felt more like an old memory and gave her a name. Alianna._

 _And then Her Teacher kneeling between her and the pyre. Someone must have fetched him to talk sense into his apprentice. She remembered looking up at his worried face, and then at the others chalking up the courage to approach and stare at the spectacle she had made of herself. She remembered him lifting her from the earth, walking to the wise woman's cottage as a handful of village folk followed, murmuring. An evil fey spirit come upon the girl, some said. Who knows what madness elves carry in their blood, others supposed. This has never happened before, an ill omen, a few had pronounced._

Irse squirmed at the uncomfortable memory and clutched at her collar, thumbing the seams. Okami must have noticed her unease. Evidently he too had not forgotten about their first experience of the harvest rite. Exactly one year had passed since, and she had been dreading and bracing herself for this coming one.

"You need not be present this time. I will tell them you are helping me finish a rushed commission."

Not an untruth, for indeed, Mister Kagain had sent a messenger the other day bearing an instruction to prepare a batch of new shields. _Don't forget, priority order,_ reminded the dwarf's tightfisted scrawl above his seal _._

She breathed in sharply and furrowed her brows. "No, every girl and woman in the village has to be there. This is important to them. I'm not about to ruin it again for everyone. If I don't go, they'll continue to think something's wrong with me."

"It was not your fault. There are things that happen to anyone beyond our understanding and this they should accept without judgment," Okami contended.

Irse smiled to assure him. "I'll be fine. I've told Kerda to smack me in case I start acting out again."

Though clearly unconvinced, he assented. They returned to the smithy to prepare the forge for Okami's work. Not long after Irse had cleaned herself and set up the hearth and the tools, did Kerda arrive to call on her.

"Don't you fret, Mister Okami. I promise I'll bring Irse back without a complaint from the elders about eating all of the feast by herself," the girl promised a little too loudly before pushing the elf down the path leading to the main square.

"Isn't the food free for all to partake, no limit on the second helpings?" Irse grumbled.

"Not if you're the one tasked to watch over the tables and serve them to others just like in the last Greengrass," Kerda chided cheerily. "And you telling them it was the ants, _Magical Ants_ , who carried off entire plates of mince pies, and _returned them empty_ , didn't help."

Irse laughed. "Let's hope they'll have forgotten about it. Ah, hey," she said, turning to look at her friend with a grin. "Remember what I asked of you before? If I start, er, acting strange like I did last year, keep your promise to smack me in the face."

Kerda didn't return the mirth, her eyes suddenly grave in genuine worry. "I- I could do it for you if you think it'll help. I know you're thinking it'd be funny to see the look on the elder's faces. But are you sure you wish to go through with this again? We could tell the others you fell ill. Mother's friends might talk, but who cares what they say. Mother will put them to shame for wagging their tongues."

The elf kept silent, staring at the path ahead. Soon the pair arrived at the gathering in the main square, the womenfolk making their way to assigned stations within the circle.

Irse gazed warily at the others, noting a few sharp glances thrown her way. Then she looked at Kerda and beamed.

 _Yet for every judgment, there had been compassion._

 _She remembered the motherly Daserah handing her a mug of lemon balm with a consoling smile as if the village's most important rite hadn't been interrupted by the antics of a newcomer._

 _Kerda sat by her side, soothing and saying it was only a bad dream and no one here would harm her._

 _The usually cranky Farmer Teld stood by the doorway, offering to make ready his cart and take them to a temple in the city, if she needed healing of that sort. And of his wife, normally overbearing Alise, suggesting she would go around and collect coin from the villagers to pitch in and pay for the clerics._

 _Then Tucky, the grandfatherly inn cook, apologizing, perhaps one of the helpers may have ignorantly added a bad mushroom in the porridge fed to the laborers and girls readying the tables, and somehow Irse likely got the unlucky serving._

 _Even Headman Prappin was there, shooing the curious onlookers, assuring them that the elf had only exhausted herself from helping with preparations for the festival on top of her work at the forge._

 _And then the village folk who had welcomed her to the feasting tables with kind smiles and plates of food, fussing at how the young elf must have been merely famished._

 _Simple kindness prevailing over mistrust of the stranger._

"It will be all right," Irse promised the other girl. "This time I'm ready."

Having already presented her firstfuit the prior year, Irse took her place with the other village women. A few laid expectant eyes on her, but she steeled herself against their pointed gaze.

Wisewoman Daserah stood by the pyre, holding a lighted torch. She raised her hands and recounted the significance of their gathering.

"We commemorate the courage of our forefathers who came to these lands, fleeing the wars and monsters ravaging their homes, banding together to start anew. We remember the old spirits who delivered a harvest in a short span and ensured the survival of our people through the bitter frost. We celebrate the Maiden, wisewoman to our forefathers who refrained not in committing the ultimate sacrifice so that her people may live and not die."

Daserah lowered the torch, allowing the flames to light the edge of the pyre. "It is said upon learning of the spirits' demand, the people refused. United though not of the same blood; to them, the death of one is the death of all. And yet, the wisewoman herself selflessly lighted her own pyre, blessing her people with her final breath."

Soon smoke curled from smoldering embers around the pile of hay and it didn't take long for fire to engulf the effigy. The elf stared at the roaring flames. _Nothing_.

"Come, children. Present your oblations and honor the Maiden's sacrifice," Daserah beckoned.

In silence the girls approached and cast their offerings. A handful of onions. An exceptionally large head of lettuce. A bundle of herbs. A dress sewn. A basket woven. All lovingly cradled in their hands, tossed and suspended in the air for a moment before landing in the fire.

 _And then she saw, not with her own sight but through the sight of another._ No longer fruits of the field but fruits of the womb. Not hay and the tongue of flames waiting for them, but cold stone and a dagger. Faces familiar and known for a year, now cowled heads and shadowed masks in purple robes. The solemn silence replaced by the wail of children.

Numbness crawled across her skin; ears deafened by a roar - waves of a sea behind cavernous walls. A shroud crept from behind, above and beside, dimming her vision. Darkness and wind swept around her, threatening to wash all feeling, her consciousness beginning to pull away and fade.

 _Not again._

Fighting the panic welling within her chest, Irse cast her questions before her.

 _Who are these people? Where is this place? Has this already happened or is it still to come?_

But none answered and the tide continued to pull at her, almost succeeding. In desperation and instinct, she dug her heels into the ground, sliding one foot to rest at a stance. And the memory of muscle engaging made her remember.

 _Roiled by the waters, fire, and wind. But take root in the earth from whence all came and to whom all will return._

Her Teacher's words flashing in what remained of consciousness, Irse inwardly reached out to grasp and hold. A memory of them pausing from lessons and sitting beneath the shade of a tree, his hand, calloused and soiled from the day's labors, gently resting upon the weathered and ancient trunk.

Resigned and letting go of the need to see, she finally unfocused her eyes. One deep breath and the elf imagined roots sprouting from the soles of her feet, digging into the dirt beneath, shooting deeper into the depths. They anchored her to the earth as the wind, the sea, darkness, the cavern, the cowled mob and the wailing children, all rushed through her in a torrential wave, its roar collapsing to a single point.

Irse blinked and the world cleared around her.

The pyre still burned, its flames illuminating faces, all familiar once more. She peeked at Kerda now engrossed with observing the procession as the last of the girls completed their offerings. Irse poked her in the ribs. Startled, Kerda turned to the elf, exhaling at seeing nothing amiss. By the firelight, the elf glanced at the women around them, thankful for it seemed none paid attention to her anymore, no longer anticipating another bizarre demonstration.

The ceremony passed undisturbed by her, and surely henceforth the incident will be marked as simply another case of overwork or strange mushrooms in the stew.

"We give thanks to the Great Mother Chauntea and to the old spirits of the plains ensuring this land provides for our needs. We give thanks to the Maiden who burned her body that the fires of her sacrifice shall be a light enduring unto our days, now and until the seasons and the realms are no more," Daserah proclaimed, her voice strong and clear above the silence and the crackling flames.

"To Chauntea, to the spirits, to the Maiden," the village folk rejoined in one voice. At the wisewoman's nod, the rite was closed, torches were lit, and the air resounded with cheers.

But to the young elf, a faint echo of disquiet lingered. Inexplicably she had managed to maintain her senses throughout the vision, but it yielded more questions than answers. She sighed, absently nodding at Kerda who excused herself to go and assist with the serving.

The women's circle dissipated, and the surrounding crowd broke apart to gather at the tables. She looked around, somewhat unsettled, then her eyes were drawn to the torchlights.

Among the menfolk Okami stood, waiting. Irse ran to her Teacher, blurting out a greeting as soon as she reached him.

"You were _here_? Here the whole time?"

He nodded, a faint smile betraying the relief in his face.

"I thought you'd be working on Mister Kagain's commission instead?"

"It is important, _but only yesterday and tomorrow_."

 _Odd_. Every single commission, even the ones not Kagain's, was of utmost priority – the blacksmith always insisting on delivering _just in time_. In many instances, working long into the night and until dawn by himself just to finish a work, even after his apprentice had retired for the day.

Irse tilted her head, puzzled. _What else could be more important to him than completing a work order?_

He must have noticed the questioning stare, for he quirked his lip. "It came to my ears that Farmer Mefer boasted of his success with a crop of daikon this year. I had been promised a portion of his harvest in exchange for replacing the coulter in his plough. Tonight, I come to see his pledge fulfilled."

She grinned, approving of his priorities. They walked away to join the others, the torchlights lending warmth to the near-wintry night air, the fallen leaves a royal carpet beneath their feet.

* * *

 _Apologetic scribblings:_

I know, I know… this should've been posted last Halloween or right after. ಠ_ಥ

Full disclosure, though: Dearg, its customs and inhabitants are all products of the imagination, and the Rite of the Burning Maiden inspired by Roman accounts (though probably disputable) of Celtic Druids.


	25. Upon the Ground, Dry Branches (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may warmth and comfort abide with you through the winter days.

A thousand apologies, this should have been posted last December. ;P

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 25: Upon the Ground, Dry Branches**

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 _Winter_. And upon the ground, dry branches.

They weren't there yesterday. Irse looked up at the tree from whence they had fallen. Leafless and lifeless, the verdant canopy of seasons past now a mere memory. Last night's snowfall must have proved too heavy to bear, a pity they won't be around to sprout new leaves for the spring. She gathered and bundled them with the others collected for the stove and the fireplace. Irse made her way back to the cottage, feet sinking into ankle-deep slush. It slowed her steps, but the elf didn't mind. Dusk remained a good couple of hours away and, except for sharpening a commissioned knife for a customer, all other work had been finished for today.

 _Today. The first of Nightal. The Feast of the Moon._

No wonder the smithy hadn't seen another soul since the other day. Village folk were preoccupied with their own affairs – whether partaking in small gatherings or in rituals their faith demanded of this day. Faerun celebrated Moonfest as a time to remember those who have passed on, and the young elf thought back to her days at the Keep.

Mostly a solemn affair, with the Avowed assembling at The Hearth, the main dining hall, after vespers. Over supper, the Great Readers took turns reciting the names of the deceased Keepers of Tomes and First Readers with their contributions to the furthering of knowledge.

Scribes whispered among themselves - should Tethoril pass on, it would take a full tenday to recite all his accomplishments. The litany of complex spells he has unearthed from the rarest tomes, his effortless decipherment of cryptic scripts in forgotten tongues no one else could translate, and the penning of easy-to-grasp annotations on treatises most difficult to comprehend – this humble man's enduring legacy to more than one generation of the Avowed. And the list continued to grow even while he yet lived.

As for Master Ulraunt? Perhaps they could squeeze in his more humble achievements during the serving of the soup. Such tittering definitely displeased the proud and haughty Keeper of Tomes, evidenced by the scowl on his face that could curdle every pitcher of milk on the table during the recitations.

And in their room, before retiring for bed, the two girls would strive to outdo each other for the future honor of being the Reader who would recite the future Great Late Master Ulraunt's elegy. Unfortunately, they could never get past Imoen's _Master of Mutton-Mongering_ before dissolving into hysterical giggling.

Her lips curled into a sad smile. Another Moonfest away from home, and soon another winter solstice as well. How swiftly did the days pass and the elf wouldn't deny she had gotten used to the routine.

For the quiet of a day without labor carried its own pleasant joys. Hours spent curled up in a chair by the fireplace and catching up with the bundles of cheap chapbooks bought from the Open Market while her Teacher pottered about untiring in whatever chore could not be put off. Whether accounting for their commissions, his fingers rapidly flicking at the wooden beads of the counting frame; or simply sitting in quiet contemplation of a finished work, perhaps seeking for imperfections needing improvement or a means to hasten a process without compromise.

And cooking, of course.

 _Supper_. Irse glared at the bundle of sticks and branches in her arms. He would need these for the stove. Priorities shifted; the girl trudged through the snow with burning purpose. Not long she stomped into the cleared pathway to the cottage. Just then, a wagon pulled up by the side of the road and a woman alighted, hailing a greeting at the elf.

"Murtha!" Irse shouted and waved back at their regular customer, a merchant making trips between Asbravan and Iriaebor.

"Forgive me for imposing upon you on this day of all days. But perhaps Okami might take a look at the skeins and wheels?" the other woman called out.

 _Already winter and Murtha picks this time of the year to set off,_ the elf groused inwardly, predictably suffering damage to her wagon in the icy roads. Not to be uncharitable, but this job had disturbed a rare moment of rest from the forge.

"All right, come with me to the smithy," Irse invited, though a bit lukewarm.

"Wait, this will take a while won't it?" Murtha asked.

Without waiting for a response, the merchantwoman climbed up the wagon once more. Irse canted her head, listening. Murtha seemed to be speaking with someone inside, and then she alighted again, this time holding the hand of another. Though cloaked and draped over the head with a patchy quilt, her companion could not hide the somewhat hunched back and shaky hands. _An old woman?_ Irse approached and offered assistance. She helped Murtha ease the seemingly elderly lady down from the wagon and with careful steps led them to the smithy.

Okami wasted no time and agreed to do an inspection and make necessary repairs, for anything to be done needed to be completed while light remained in the sky. He and Murtha went outside, the apprentice staying behind to sharpen a commissioned knife.

And keep watch over Aunt Edem in the corner.

Not an old woman, it turned out. Murtha's companion seemed over fifty years of age, for a quarter of her dark hair had only begun to fade to ashen gray, yet possessing a face weathered and scarred, eyes blank, milky white and unseeing.

She sat in a chair and hummed a rhythmless tune, arms bowled as if cradling a babe, rocking as if to put the unseen infant to sleep. Lost in her inner world and surely in a happier past, perhaps a mother once, whether to her own or to Murtha.

Irse shrugged and turned her attention to the knife on the whetstone. Dribbled a dollop of oil on the block and spread it upon the surface with a rag, then laid the knife upon the slab on its broad side, raising the spine of the blade at a slight angle. Pressing down on the tip with three fingers, she commenced sliding the edge across the surface, repeating the process, ears tingling at the satisfying high-pitched scraping of steel against stone.

The humming stopped.

"I-is that...a blade on a... whetstone? I have not heard of that sound in a long time," a hoarse voice whispered.

Irse turned around to find the woman _staring_ at her. Though blind, Edem appeared to gaze at the elf as if her eyes could still see.

"Yes, Aunt Edem? Is there anything you need of me?"

She recoiled at the sound of another's voice. " _My Lord!_ Is it your voice I hear?" she said, words eerily straight and firm against her earlier tremulous humming.

Edem slowly rose from her seat and padded forward a few paces. "Have you truly returned? Come to reward your servant? I have been faithful, all these years! I have! I have!" she rambled, grasping at the air.

Alarmed, Irse's eyes darted around the room. _My Lord? No one else in here. Who in the realms is she talking to?_

"Uh, Aunt Edem. It's just me, the blacksmith's apprentice. Your niece is outside, perhaps I should call for her?"

The question seemed to have cleared Edem's senses for she paused and looked around. "M-my niece? Murtha? Murtha, is it?"

"Murtha. Yes," Irse repeated. A mention of a familiar name might calm the woman.

"Where am I, Child? What day is it?"

 _The day? It's the dead of winter_ , Irse almost blurted out. "Why, it's the first of Nightal, the day of the Moonfest. You and Murtha are supposed to be journeying to Iriaebor, but you stopped here in Dearg for repairs on your wagon…"

"Moonfest… Feast of the Moon…," Edem murmured. Her face brightened, eerily lit up by a secret only she knew. "Do you know, of all days, this day alone is holy to us?"

 _A holy day?_ Torn between curiosity and heeding the unnerving tug in her gut, the elf settled for a safe response. "Moonfest is important to everyone in Toril. It's a day to remember those who've passed on."

Edem cackled, "Only for the fearful and meek. But for us, a day to honor our most daring and valiant slayings, a day to retell and remember who and how you made another to bleed and die. Whether with a thousand cuts or a _single stroke."_ Her pale gaze pierced at the girl in the last utterance.

It struck a nerve, though it certainly cannot be an accusation, for this woman knew her not in any capacity. Surely nothing more than the mad ramblings of someone who might have been a mercenary or a soldier before she went blind and insane. Irse willed herself to remain calm, turning to the hammer rack to check on the tools. _Ignore her and maybe her mind, whatever's left of it, will wander off to something more pleasant._

"So… slayings?" Irse absently said then smacked her forehead with a palm, berating herself for humoring the woman.

"Oh, there's a tale we always speak of, the greatest of them all. Have you heard of the murderous exploits of the priest-mage Uthaedeol the Blood-Drenched?"

Irse quirked her lips, quelling the urge to snicker. _Uthaedeol the Blood-Drenched_. Such a _scary_ moniker. Well, if she were to make a name for herself, it would be something far more fearsome.

Something like – _Irse the Devourer of Blood… Sausages_. And blood pies too. _Yum._

"'Tis the tale of how he slew King Samyte of Tethyr, though the king had been warned and had prepared. To breach the palace defenses, Uthaedeol teleported in front of a royal guard on a pegasus, _midflight_ , killed its rider and rode the flying steed himself to crash through the glass ceiling of the throne room," Edem recounted.

"Oh my, poor flying horsie," Irse mumbled, genuinely appalled at the abuse of the creature. Eyes darted up to the ceiling, then to the hearth, imagining the priest-mage squeezing down through the chimney and bursting out of the fireplace instead. _Tadaaa_.

The woman continued reminiscing, now enlivened. "And then Uthaedeol leapt off the dying pegasus to drive a fist into the eye of the king's guardian black dragon, using a powerful disintegrating spell to destroy the great drake, floating unharmed through the dragon's dying acid breath, protected by his enchanted armor."

 _Wait, a black dragon guarding the king?_ How huge must the throne room be to fit a dragon in there along with the king's entire court and don't forget the throne and the rest of the furniture? Or perhaps, a miniature black dragon. Maybe the size of a dire badger. The _Bestiaries_ mentioned those things getting huge too, after gorging themselves on worms right before hibernating. Irse nodded sagely to herself.

"And then Uthaedeol cast a spell to make all arrows in the room to launch of their own will against the archers."

The elf furrowed her brows. How? Did they launch themselves from their bows, shooting straight into the other archers? Or did they fly and arched back to their original bowmen? Or did the arrows simply darted backwards and stabbed the archers holding them? She could lose sleep for days just thinking about it.

"So how did the king finally die? Did he faint from seeing everything then fell and knocked his head badly? Or did the priest-mage stab him with the royal spoon from the royal soup bowl?"

"He and Samyte fought in single combat, the king's broadsword against the priest's dagger. But with the little blade, he cut the king's skin into ribbons while slaying the guards who dared come to his aid, then cast a spell forcing Samyte to dance until he bled to death."

So the king perished from a _bloody dance-off_. Irse genuinely shuddered. Having two left feet herself, the sheer idea of being made to dance was already torture enough.

"When done with the massacre, Uthaedeol teleported away but not before leaving magical traps which slew the king's own sons who entered the throne room."

 _And the priest-mage even had the grace to leave a deadly housewarming gift,_ the elf snorted at the thought.

" _Wow_ ," Irse breathed, then blinked and shrugged, annoyed at being unexpectedly engrossed with the gruesome tale. "But why did this Uthaedeol murder him? Did Samyte insult him? The king owed him money?"

Edem frowned, apparently confused at the question. "What reason is required for murder other than… _because_!" she cried, arms thrown in frustration.

"Well, that's quite the story, Aunt Edem. I'm sure you've done some _heroic slayings_ yourself," Irse muttered dismissively.

The old woman straightened herself as if finding renewed pride. "No, not heroic to be worthy of tales. But proof of devotion to my lord's cause."

Edem grinned, toothless and terrible. " _Children_."

Blood suddenly froze, colder than the winter beyond the walls of the smithy. Irse glared with incredulity at the other woman. _Is she confessing to the murder of children_? The mind raced, ticking off decisions – should she report this to the City Watch? Of Iriaebor or Asbravn? But how long ago, for given Edem's age and mental state, the crimes would have been committed years, perhaps already decades past. And who is this lord she spoke of? Most certainly some deranged cult leader, and could they still be at large and stealing children for their sick practices?

" _For while they lived, he will not_. Still he has not returned, perhaps we have not yet slain all of them?" Edem rambled.

"I'm… I'm sure you got them all," Irse stammered, hesitant as she turned her back on Edem.

"No… not all."

Something clicked within. Unknowable, inexplicable. But _urgent._

Irse whirled around in time to catch Edem's wrist, the cracked and yellowing nails reaching for her face.

"Aunt Edem, get a hold of yourself!" Irse entreated, both hands straining.

Like a rabid animal the woman growled; spittle dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Edem pushed at the girl. They crashed against the rack and fell to the ground, metal tools clattering around them. Irse managed to shield her face with one arm as Edem yapped and pummeled her with bony fists. Instinct spurred the other hand to grab at one of the small hammers strewn near her, but rational thought prevailed and held it back.

"Lord Tethrin, please don't make me punch a blind woman!"

Her prayer must have been answered, small miracle it could be heard at all beneath the crone's screeching. Edem ceased her assault and pulled back, arms raised above her head, hands clasping an invisible dagger. A dagger she held, perhaps now only in her mind but a true blade ages ago.

 _An opening_. Irse bucked, throwing the woman off-balance, then seized her by the arms. They twisted and rolled around the floor until the elf gained the upper hand to bear down on Edem who writhed and wailed.

"Auntie!" Murtha cried from the door as she and Okami barged in.

"Help! She's -," Irse gasped at the effort as she held down the thrashing woman. "… having a fit!" she finished just as her Teacher and Murtha managed to haul Edem away.

Finally relieved, Irse rose to her feet and stumbled backwards to catch her breath. Hearing her niece's voice calmed Edem somewhat for she now curled into a ball and whimpered in the mercantwoman's arms.

"Are you hurt?" her Teacher asked, eyes sweeping at the sight of the scattered tools and at his student frantically rubbing her forearm. Irse shook her head, though still dazed.

"Forgive me, I didn't think she'd be acting up again so soon. My aunt has bouts of… well, _this,_ " Murtha pleaded.

"I don't know if it's something I said. But just before she flew at me, she'd been boasting of killings made by other people. And of her…" Irse swallowed then whispered, "… murdering children."

Okami's eyes darted questioningly between apprentice and customer. Undisguised panic flashed in Murtha's face to confirm the worst.

"Aunt Edem, Pa's only sister. Before she became like this, she was a decent sort. We didn't see her all the time but she's been good to us, helped us ever since Ma died from bone rot and Pa lived through the shakes but couldn't work anymore. Sent us gold through money merchants and came to visit every few years, but we never asked about her work."

Unsurprisingly they would be too grateful to question the source putting bread on their table. Murtha went on to reveal that her aunt's generosity continued long after she and her siblings had grown and could find work or trade on their own. Money sent without fail until six years ago when the gold stopped coming.

Six years ago? Irse furrowed her brows as she counted back. The thirteen thousand and fifty-eighth year by Dalereckoning. The Year of Shadows. The time of the Godswar? A memory of days shrouded in dread though everyone carried on as if nothing were amiss. News of the terrible destruction wrought by warring deities in the great cities reached them in hushed whispers – currents of fear chipping at the Keeper of Tomes' strained assurances of Candlekeep's impregnability. Irse and Imoen, young and let to play but not shielded from the pall of quiet terror clouding the faces of the grownups around them. Especially her foster father. Though he maintained his routine of study and correspondence, the dread in his eyes could not be concealed as he looked at her. As if he expected his foster child to burst into flames at any moment.

" _Don't worry, Father. Master Ulraunt says we're safe, the walls are sturdy as they've ever been and the gods fighting are too far away to reach us here," Irse had reassured him, clinging to his knee as he sat at his great workdesk. Gorion had chuckled at her words, her small attempt to allay his disquiet._

" _Safe within these walls. And the god too far to reach for you here," he affirmed as he patted her head._

 _Irse scowled, baffled. "The god? Aren't there many of them running around the realms now? Which one do you mean?"_

 _But he never answered the question, just as he never did with the others._

"For some years we had no word of her again until an old neighbor who has dealings with the Flaming Fist told us of rumors of a prisoner held by the company. A madwoman who answers to the name. Pa and I went to see for ourselves, and sure enough it's his sister. The Fist claimed to have found her wandering the streets in such state and bragging of her killings. Without proof they couldn't be certain but decided to keep her there anyway. Am just glad they agreed to release her to us. Pa thinks she got tangled with some evil cult what with all the terrible things that happened in the Godswar."

Healers couldn't restore her mind and sight, and they pronounced the madness both a punishment and a mercy for her alleged crimes.

"Most of the time she's got no idea who and where she is, starts wandering around if left on her own. She says things, frightful things most of the time and even lashes out at me and other people. It's hard handling my aunt, but before Pa died, I promised him I'd take her in," the merchantwoman confessed.

"Look, I know your assistant was almost hurt. But please, I beg you, tell no one of this. Aunt Edem's antics have reached the ears of our neighbors. Who knows what they'll do to her when I'm not around. I thought it best to bring her with me now in my supply runs," Murtha implored with them.

"Then you should have warned us beforehand and not put my apprentice at risk of harm," Okami chided sternly.

The merchantwoman bowed her head and apologized. They concluded the transaction with haste and mercifully, Aunt Edem had reverted to a more docile state and stayed as such throughout. Murtha bundled her aunt in a coat and uttered her apologies once more. Okami's expression seemed to soften and he accompanied them to the wagon, even lifting the now feeble Edem up the footboard. Irse ran after them and slipped a rolled up blanket of thick wool into Murtha's hand.

"Wrap her with this, it should keep the cold out for the rest of the journey," the elf suggested with a gentle smile.

Murtha accepted, mouthed her thanks and another apology, her eyes almost tearful. Blacksmith and apprentice watched them drive off through the village path down to the Dusk Road before returning to the cottage. As Okami busied himself with supper, Irse set about with her routine of cleaning the smithy.

Dusk had already fallen, the shortened day swallowed by night. Irse bolted the door and began gathering the tools scattered on the floor. Fingertips brushed against the hammer heads, one of them nearly used to strike at the mad woman, and the hand drew back. Wincing, she pushed it out of her mind – thoughts of what could have happened had she given in to reflex and instinct.

 _Children slain by Edem's hand, could it have been true?_ The mind returned to the strange vision of last year's Highharvestide; the cavern, the infants, and the altar of stone. Understanding dawned upon her.

 _Of course_! Her visions have always mostly been foresighting – like the mute doppelgängers of folks back at the Keep before she had actually run into them, or the incident with Dotie in Berdusk.

Only one explanation made sense - the dream during the Rite must have been a forewarning of Edem and of her past crimes. And though she had profited from them and even helped her family with the money, still the lasting consequences to Edem and her loved ones were sobering to think about.

Unnerved over the revealed atrocities and yet relieved that the vision had nothing to do with her, Irse sighed as she shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table _. Why couldn't they be more about pleasant things?_

Okami must have noticed her subdued mood, so uncharacteristic just when dinner is about to be served.

"Think no more of what happened. They are somehow coping, by the mercy of the gods," he assured her as he set down a tray bearing cutlery, bowls, a plate of vegetables, and a small kettle of stew on the table.

As his custom, her Teacher stepped to the side and gestured to the spread.

"Supper is ready," Okami announced with a formal bow. "Please, eat."

Murmuring her thanks, Irse sighed with contentment as she pulled the bowl closer, uncovered the kettle and inhaled the savory aroma wafting from the stew.

Luckily though, no grand prophecies were needed to assure her of the constancy of a daily meal.

* * *

"Lieutenant Sandars," Irse greeted with a smart salute and a click of her heel, using the man's true name. _Be more than polite_. _Be respectful, regardless of standing, lowly or highborn, address the customer as if he were both your bosom friend and the emperor._

Tucky the old inn cook - bespectacled, with snowy hair and mustache, stood tall and straight as if his former days with the Iriaebor Watch never left him. Beneath his apron, he reported for daily duty in white shirt and trousers; a wonder how they never get soiled despite his laboring in the kitchen. How he got his moniker – Innkeeper Denwy supposed it stemmed from his reputation as the sternest disciplinarian, legendary for reducing the new recruits of the City Watch into blubbering turkeys tucking in their tail feathers. Irse thought it sprang from his specialty – turkeys tucked with anything tasty and conceivably possible to tuck in a turkey.

The cook returned the salute. " _General Elf,"_ he hailed with indulgent yet genuine formality.

"You asked me to forge you a special blade, Sir," Irse began solemnly as she laid down a rolled-up leather wrap upon the table. She unfastened the strap, willing her hands to remain steady, and unfurled to reveal the prize.

"The _santoku_ , a Kozakuran design," she said, pointing to the knife, fashioned after the one the cook had spied on Okami's whetstone when he visited the smithy to have his knives sharpened. Upon learning of its purpose and out of curiosity, Tucky had asked if they could produce a similar tool for him.

And seeing the chance to enact her _Plan_ , Irse had volunteered to take on the commission. And as if the gods approved of that plan, her Teacher insisted she keep all and not just part of the labor wages for herself.

Tucky stroked his hoary goatee and nodded, a wordless command for the elf to explain. Irse picked up the knife, laid flat on her palm to better show its features. A wide sheepsfoot blade with no tip, shorter and thinner with a straight edge against the typical cook's knife with the standard curved edge and a broad blade sloping upwards to form a sharp point. Her Teacher had interpreted santoku to mean "three virtues" – slicing, dicing, and mincing.

"Seems to me the blade's too flat to rock on the cutting board. Won't do for mincing herbs," Tucky observed.

"You're right about that. Teacher never uses it for herbs," Irse agreed. "But for skinnier cuts of vegetables or anything."

"Show me your knifing," Tucky said as he set down a peeled turnip before the girl.

Irse breathed in, then after a slight bow, rolled the produce closer, knuckling to hold it down. Starting with the index and thumb of the right hand, she grasped the knife at the spine directly above the heel, before wrapping the rest of her fingers around the handle. For flexibility and control.

There were only two talents in this world the elf could lay claim to.

The uncanny ability to assemble a stew unfit for goblin consumption.

And a seemingly innate aptitude for chopping up and slicing things.

A skill unintendedly honed through years of helping in the kitchens and the apothecary, something to which she had never truly given thought; only realized when Okami requested her to prepare the vegetables in his stead due to the sudden arrival of another customer needing a re-point for their oxgoad.

The counter to muscle memory from the first few slices immediately communicated the difference between his santoku and the kitchen knives of her old home. The recollection of observations of her Teacher's precise motions while chopping served to guide the adjustments. The confirmation – the look of quiet approval on Okami's face as he slid her finished and wafer-thinned carrots and potatoes into the pan.

"True, with a straight edge like this you can't rock the blade back and forth as you'd normally do when chopping stuff. Instead you slice forwards and downwards," Irse explained as she halved then sliced the turnip with rapidity and precision. In that moment, few things in the realms rivaled the satisfaction of feeling the blade sliding without resistance through fibrous produce flesh, and the hypnotic rhythm of the cutting motion made fluid by practice.

See the hollows?" she pointed out, pausing to run a finger along the knife belly to draw attention to the vertical indentations hollowed out of the face of the blade. "Keeps things from sticking to the blade to let you return faster for the next cut, which also helps you get a thinner slice."

Done with the demonstration and out of turnip, Irse laid down the santoku and fanned out the slices across the chopping board. The inn cook leaned in and plucked a paper-thin piece, turning it over for scrutiny.

"I see. And which is better for everything? My old knives or this one?"

 _Always be truthful, neither subtract the flaws nor add to the virtues,_ Okami's words echoed in her mind.

"I'll be honest with you, Sir. They're both fit for the same uses. Surely the santoku's better for fine though simple slices and it's lighter with the balanced weight. But the heavier cook's knife is much sounder for disjointing meat and if you're doing complicated cutting given the blade tip. Teacher still has each, depending on what he's making," Irse acknowledged.

Tucky bobbed his head, seemingly satisfied. He hefted the knife in his hands, admiring the fine bevel of the razor edge. Then he eyed the elf suspiciously.

"I know you feyfolk like to enchant weapons and things, but I don't need any of that. _This knife better not suddenly burst into some poncy song and fairy sparkles while I'm deboning a chicken._ "

Irse grinned cheekily and rubbed her nose. "No, Sir. Just a sharp edge for cutting. Nothing more."

He pulled out a pouch from his apron pocket and handed it to her. "Good. Here, the silvers for the cost of the iron and anything else you used to make it, as agreed."

Irse suppressed the urge to punch the air in triumph.

"Now on the payment for your labor, what day is today?"

"It's the tenth of Nightal."

"The tenth… come back on the twentieth, the day of the winter solstice, and you'll get them, as agreed as well."

"Not a strange request at all, but a tad specific," he added with a puzzled look.

Irse didn't answer but grinned as she slipped the pouch into her pack, gave her thanks, bowed, and left the inn's kitchen.

* * *

As customary, the elf's task is to set the table. And customary for Okami to keep the pot of whatever he was cooking out of her hands until it was truly time for supper.

Hence, as expected, he came upon the table looking surprised, baffled. And somewhat suspicious at what she had already put there - a large covered wicker bucket.

With flourish, Irse removed the covering. " _Tadaaa_!" she exclaimed.

His eyes broadened. Piled in the wicker bucket were pieces of cut-up cooked fowl.

Yet he had to ask.

"Did you make these by yourself?"

Irse pouted. Of course, accidental food poisoning would be the first thing in his mind.

"No," she dragged out indignantly. "I had Old Tucky cook them up. Remember the santoku he wanted made? He gave money for the materials, but I waived the wages for my labor to trade for this."

And not only labor – blood and sweat as well. Hours of shaping the iron, an initial underestimation with the length of the tang and having to reheat and rework all over, annealing, filing, whetting. And quite certain somewhere along the process, a finger or two had been cut or scraped. A drop of blood offering to the whetstone gods.

Irse scratched the back of her neck. "Remember our first winter solstice the year we got here? We had nothing but soup and boiled potato, and I said back at home, winter solstice isn't as great of a deal like Midwinter, but nevertheless we celebrate with a very simple feast of ham and turkey and five kinds of pudding."

The attempt at the fond recollection backfired for the blacksmith's expression appeared painful and contrite.

"I remember. I did not prepare. It was inadequate."

 _For failure due to ignorance and lack of planning also brings dishonor._ Irse's eyes widened in horror at her miscalculation, the unintended rebuke.

"No, no, no! I mean it's funny because I was still hungry after the soup so I ate all the potato and didn't leave you any."

She tried once more. "And the year after that… last year's winter solstice," she said but this time with narrowed eyes. "We didn't pass the night with an empty table but instead were up to our ears in pickled daikon."

Nothing in the realms existed that she wouldn't devour, and she even enjoyed the piquant relish as a side to the main dish. But a feast consisting of nothing else but cured radish - standard pickled daikon, pickled daikon soup, salted pickled daikon, spicy pickled daikon, and sugared pickled daikon...

This time, Okami crossed his arms, evidently indignant. "No one predicted Farmer Mefer would give us half of his harvest. I only made the best out of the sudden abundance."

Irse grimaced and shivered, the memory of the unending tanginess still prickling at the back of her mouth.

"Well, you did try," she conceded. "But that isn't exactly why I got these!"

Okami raised a brow, puzzled.

"So I thought for this year, I asked you how folks celebrate in Kozakura."

"I mentioned how on the day of the winter solstice, families in my homeland gather over a bucket of…" He placed a hand over his mouth.

"… _fried chicken_ ," he whispered. He turned to her; his eyes wide at comprehending the meaning of the gift.

"But…"

Irse looked at him, apprehensive at seeing the sudden downcast expression on his face.

"I have never had them myself," Okami murmured regretfully. "For it is served only among families, because it is a dish meant to be shared in celebration, not eaten alone and by oneself."

Irse sighed as she regarded him. Of course. An abandoned child just like her. But then, she had lived in the comfort of Candlekeep, raised by a man who made himself her father and surrounded by friends and some folks, who despite their dislike of her, never meant harm.

He, on the other hand, had known no life other than of a lowly servant to the keepers of a shrine in some backwater village before a forcible conscription as a retainer and soldier to a local lord's army. None of them exactly a _family_ who would share the tiniest measure of happiness with him.

"Well…," she huffed, grabbing the backrest of the chair before her. "If you think you're allowed to be greedy and get away with having this bucket all for yourself – I'm sorry, but that's unacceptable!"

Irse plopped down into the chair and pushed the wicker bucket towards her Teacher. Sulking, she turned her face away and waited.

Okami exhaled with a quirk of his lips as he likewise sat down and plucked a drumstick out of the bucket. Only then did she take a piece for herself.

"Well, Happy Winter Solstice," she hailed, sheepishly raising a chicken leg in a mock toast.

"Happy Winter Solstice," he replied, also raising his own share.

 _Finally now they can eat_ , she cheered to herself and commenced tearing into the piece of fowl.

"And I thank you," Okami added with a slight and wistful smile. "For _this_."

Irse paused to look up at him, winked her acknowledgment and with the free hand, gave him a mock salute. And then resumed eating.

Outside the winds chilled and whistled, gusts knocking against the planks boarding the windows.

Yet these were barely heard and noticed over the contented silence between them and the merry crackle of dry branches aflame in the fireplace.

* * *

Season's Scribblings! :

Uthaedeol was a heavy metal Murder Santa. Yep, that's how Bhaalists celebrate the Feast of the Moon. Can't have a normal party like everybody else.

A thousand apologies, but given how Okami is Kozakuran, I couldn't resist inserting a nod to the modern Japanese tradition of eating KFC at Christmas Eve/Day (somewhat coinciding with the winter solstice) At least, the gesture is consistent with the nature of our ever-hungry elf. XD


	26. Along the Path, Wildflowers (Book 1)

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Dearest Readers, may springtime bring you blossoming kindness along life's trail.

* * *

 **THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE**

 **Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 26: Along the Path, Wildflowers**

* * *

 _Spring_. And along the path, wildflowers.

Sprouted among the grass and rocks, as it were a diminutive parapet of the delicate whites and yellows of snapdragons and buttercups, pale blues of gentians and forget-me-nots, blood-red poppies, deep plums of pansy and orchid, and the blush of pink sorrel and catchfly.

Irse halted at the trail leading to the smithy, staring at the wildings. _And frowned_. For right at where a pair of feet had dug their mark, evidence of another who had stood there for quite a while, a significant section appeared to be missing a whole bunch of the colorful blooms – conspicuously hacked at the mid-stems. Not that she had planted these herself, but sometimes she watered them when the summer sun blazed at its hottest. A tiny sense of ownership and responsibility for equally small things. Not to mention – the act committed at their footpath. _Theft and vandalism!_

She flicked at the marred shrub. Who among the villagers would have reason to make off with such insignificant sprouts when the womenfolk themselves often boasted of their own gardens? Certainly her Teacher wouldn't have done this – for what use did he have for _flowers_?

 _Flowers!_

In sudden panic she looked around, eyes alighting with alarm at the smithy. She remembered now. Not a few of the village women, the ones unspoken for, had been dropping by for neighborly visits, flittering with their coquettish small talk, _unconvincingly_ pretending to be interested in her Teacher's ironwork, then oh-not-so-subtly mentioning the _Maycircle_ to him _._

She flicked at a stem. The _Maycircle_ , the traditional pairing dance at Greengrass where the unmarried may take part, though customs required the man to invite the woman to become their partner. And how? _With a_ _bouquet of flowers_.

An eye narrowed, _twitching_. Which one of those sneaky schemers could have tricked and trapped her Teacher? Pennie the Pie Pincher? Tilly the Titterer? No, it must be Lanie the Lash Lasher – fluttering her eyes at Okami so furiously you'd think she was trying to summon a whirlwind.

 _Have you got a stye in the eye,_ Irse had questioned the woman but only got a head-to-toe sneer in return.

 _That's it._ The elf marched, nay, _stormed_ through the pathway, darkly reciting more names like an executioner's roll, bothered at having already reached the door before she had even reached the end of the list of suspects.

One deep breath to compose herself, and then she opened the door to the smithy. First to meet her sight, Okami welcomed her with a quick nod as he scooped fresh coals into the furnace.

"A... beautiful afternoon to you, Irse," came a shy greeting from another.

Startled out of her thoughts, she rounded on the intruder. "Oh, it's you. _Thadd_."

The young man, about her age, stood there with hands behind his back. Thadd, one of the village boys, tall and flaxen-haired and smooth-faced, industrious as the rest of them, but given to dreams of becoming a minstrel and leaving his father's farm to travel the realms someday. _To live on song and poetry rather than with soil and plow._

While they considered each other as friendly not-so-next-door neighbors, lately the boy seemed to shadow her steps a bit too frequently. And for the most annoying reasons. Sometimes inquiring what her "elfin hearing" thought of a tune he composed and sang to her, as if the pointy tips granted musical abilities above human skill.

Worse, seeking her opinion about a line of a poem he had been working on, perhaps believing that growing up in the shadow of the Great Library somehow granted her a note of bardic talent. Tolerable if his verses spoke of battle and heroic deeds.

But, _no_. They gushed about flowers and hearts, the moon and stars. The worst offender being – _"Your smile is like the sweetest fruit / While your voice sings like a magical lute."_

She cringed so much and long after reading it that upon coming home, Okami took one look at her face and asked if she had tasted a more potent pickled radish from another and if so, could she ask them to kindly lend him the recipe.

For the life of her, Irse couldn't fathom why Thadd would bother her over such things she clearly didn't care for nor excelled in. What would Teacher say? _A thousand pardons for_ _I am a blacksmith, not a wordsmith._ Worth a try next time he thinks to foist another of his sonnets on her.

"Thadd has been waiting for you for quite a while," Okami remarked as he scraped at the coals.

Irse crossed her arms and addressed the young man a little too coldly, "Is it about the hinges for the barn door?"

Odd for not only his family's barn needed repair. A few of the farmers recently hired them to look into their sheds and paddocks. Some brazen burglar has been going around, breaking through barns and animal pens. Even more puzzling, the toolsheds weren't missing anything while the stolen animal didn't leave tracks or drag marks they could follow – as if the thief had no need for iron and instead possessed the strength to lift a small goat with ease. Watchmen tried lying in wait in one of the burgled farms but caught none for the thief never struck in succeeding nights. Likewise a search of the woods by the village yielded no clues.

Well, not her problem. A more pressing matter now presented itself.

Irse huffed, "I'm almost done but I did say you'll get them within the tenday."

In other words – _Not. Today._

Thadd blinked, seemingly confused, but caught himself. "Oh, yes! Hinges! Pa did mention the hinges when I told him I'm going to the smithy. You weren't here when I arrived earlier, so I told Mister Okami instead."

"Good. _Then why are you still here?_ " Irse snapped.

So sharply, Thadd almost jumped from where he stood.

"The thing is, I came here for another reason."

"More hinges?" _Please, Oh Master of Blades and Pointy Things, make it about hinges and not poetry again_ , she begged inwardly.

"Uh, no. No," Thadd stammered as he awkwardly stepped forward. "But before anything else, I want to give these to you," he pronounced as he drew a bouquet from behind him. _A bouquet suspiciously looking like the missing wildflowers along the footpath._

Irse stared down at the offering but took it from his hands. "Yay, _flowers_ ," she muttered dryly.

Her eyes darted to her Teacher standing behind Thadd.

Okami tilted his head and shot her a reprimanding look sternly admonishing – _show respect for the effort, give thanks and praise the gift liberally in front of the giver._

Irse countered with a glare – _but he stole them from our footpath_ ; yet conceded.

"I thank you, Thadd. These are lovely. I'll find a nice place to put them in." _One of the empty biscuit tins should do._

The boy's face brightened at the acknowledgement. It seemed to have bolstered his confidence for he puffed out his chest.

"Truth is, I came to… to tell you. I want you to be my partner in the Maycircle this coming Greengrass," he said, blurting out the invitation itself though evidently attempting to appear cool and casual, running a trembling hand through his hair.

 _What._

Fist gripped tighter around the bouquet, stems near snapping, the blooms twitched as if choked. _A partner for the Maycircle!_ Though she certainly enjoyed watching the lively dance of the village youth, the grace and coordination requisite to flawlessly execute the weaving steps intimidated her more than forging an acanthus leaf from cold iron through hammer and stake raising.

First instincts flashed within - yell a blood-curdling war cry, smack Thadd on the face with the bouquet in _kesagiri_ diagonal stroke, and then leap through the window, glass flying and all and never to be seen again; but rational thought prevailed. _Think, Irse, think!_ Did not the great heroes of the old tales when caught in a great bind, managed to stall their impending doom with wit and words, and prevailed?

"Greengrass isn't _impending_ \- … I mean, happening soon. It's more than a tenday away, winter's barely gone and we still have a bit of snow out there. Isn't it too early to be sniffing around for a partner?" Irse dissuaded him.

"Uh, yes, it's certainly days from now, but it wouldn't hurt to get a headstart before anybody else gets the chance to call on you," Thadd reasoned.

"As we say around here – _The early bird gets the worm, and the early seed shoots the first sprout._ Don't you have a saying like it in the East, Mister Okami?" the young man asked hopefully, turning to the other man for support.

The blacksmith thoughtfully patted the scruff on his chin. "True, we have a similar adage in my homeland. Though it is said in this manner…"

" _He who draws the sword belated, in battle is always first beheaded,_ " he continued solemnly.

Thadd paled at the proverb. "Right, right! So ah, Irse, I'd like for you to be my partner in the Maycircle."

Irse stared at him, incredulous, as if he'd asked her to be his torture partner in a Hells' circle.

Clearly sensing hesitation from the elf, he reached over and gently touched the tip of the blossoms still in Irse's hands, like a loving father would with his babe in the mother's arms. What he didn't sense was the girl's extraordinary effort at refraining from drawing the bouquet in _battojutsu._

"Oh, Irse. Wouldn't it be a lovely sight to behold a crown of roses upon your flame-hued hair, and your elven grace clothed in the deep emerald silk of a spring gown," he waxed longingly, eyes gazing down shyly at the bouquet in her arms.

 _What._

 _A crown of roses and a gown?_

 _The hells must have added a new level to the current nine._

Irse glared abyssal fire past him and at her Teacher.

Okami squeezed in his shoulders, shaking slightly, head somewhat bowed, a knuckle pressed against quirked lips.

 _Obviously suppressing a laugh!_

Thadd gazed at her, hope and pleading in his eyes.

Irse sighed. Along with the unmarried womenfolk, all her peers who have come of age with her this year would certainly take part in the dance. Kerda herself had expressed interest, that is – should any of the boys were to ask her. What harm then could ensue if Irse were to accept his invitation?

And then came a recollection of the past couple of years, of sneaking around with Kerda and some of the other girls to catch peeks into the courtyard of Mistress Jocey, the dance teacher, where the participants sought to master their steps.

In between the merry fiddle music and Mistress Jocey's stern scoldings, there sprouted the inescapable teasing among some of the young men and women. Always, the teasing ultimately blossomed into closeness and affection. Not a few of the married folk in the village spoke of meeting their future spouse in the Maycircle, the match taken for a sign of Chauntea's blessing assuring a fruitful union.

 _Lord of Sword Stances not Dances, save her from this horrific fate!_

 _Wait!_ Why not tell him someone else already asked her? But _who_ , then?

A quick tally of the village boys scrawled in her mind. Though most of them were kind and decent, and some could even hold a conversation about anything made of steel, none of them appealed to her tolerance, enough for her to even consider partnering with in the dance. And besides, Thadd would find out quick about the lie, her dishonesty rooted out, her cruel disregard for the heart of a well-meaning boy. Visions of the ensuing shame and censure from the village folk and especially her friends blazed in the mind's eye. _And her Teacher's stifled laugh replaced by a sigh of grave disappointment over the dishonorable falsehood._

All culminating in an imagined sketch of getting run out of Dearg with torches and pitchforks, and having to find another place with her Teacher to settle in.

 _Mister Kagain would surely insist on keeping the rent deposit, though_.

Either way, whether to dance or to lie – _her life would be ruined!_ Oh come now, surely she merely thought too far ahead and made too much of the whole situation? Irse shut her eyes and furrowed her brows. _No, ruined indeed,_ she smothered all rational thought. Her stomach sank and ached, and definitely not from hunger.

It was then that of all people, Winthrop's words came to her; words wherewith he teased the youngsters when caught red-handed in a prank.

 _Honesty is the best policy, if you can't fib away a folly the size of a gully._

The elf breathed in slowly, drawing strength.

"Thadd, I'm grateful for the invitation and it's truly kind of you to consider me for your Maycircle partner, but I must decline. I'm sorry," Irse apologized with a bow.

Okami raised his chin and looked at her.

It took a twinkling for the rejection to sink in. The young man blinked several times and mumbled, "Y- you won't be my partner at the circle? Why? Is there someone you'd rather be with?"

Irse shook her head. "No one. Only that I'm not at ease with the idea of dancing…"

"Just… that? You'll never know unless you try," Thadd pressed.

She paused and pondered his words. _Boy's got a point_ , and makes sense, too. Perhaps this might turn out fine like everything she had discovered after overcoming the initial trepidation – such as climbing a high wall to find a new escape route and shortcut to the stables from the buttery, or leaving home and her foster father to seek her parents.

Yet all of them were choices of her own making. _And none_ _as terrifying_ _as_ _parading in front of everyone and prancing and dancing in a flowery spring gown._

"You're right and perhaps I might even reconsider later. Who knows? But this time, I will not," she said with genuine gentleness.

The young man's face fell, his shoulders sagged. "I suppose I can respect that. No one should have to force you if you really don't want to do it. I thank you for being honest with me, at least," he said with a pained smile.

Indeed, Thadd looked so lost and pitiful, her heart suddenly ached, the weight of rejection mirrored in her own soul.

"Is there anyone else you could ask instead?"

"I can't think of anyone. Nobody else seems interested in the things I wrote myself, and you're the only one who ever took time to listen to me or read them," Thadd confessed sadly. "Even though I can tell from the look on your face… you didn't truly like any of my songs and poems, did you? "

"Oh. I'm so sorry," Irse stammered, embarrassed. "I'm sure they're fine work, only I'm not versed in… verses."

"It's all right. I'm still grateful you read them at all," Thadd countered, chuckling.

The elf crossed her arms and rubbed her chin. "There must be another out there who would be happy to partner with you. All the other girls in the village can dance, but who among them, like you, could…"

 _Sing._ Irse's eyes broadened. _Of course!_ Recollections rushed back to her, of Kerda quietly crooning a mournful ballad under her breath as they picked through her mother's herb garden. The girl could carry a tune with the sweetness of a warbling nightingale. Irse used to tease her friend to sing a little louder because only the field mice could hear, but the latter would blush and fold up, claiming she sounded like a snivelling orc. And so the elf chose instead to remain silent and pretend to not notice when the other girl lost herself in a task and absently resumed her song.

"What about Kerda?" she suggested, feigning nonchalance.

"Kerda?" Thadd murmured. "She's kind and pretty, but I don't think she'd be impressed with me, or my songs and poems."

It took just about every ounce of self-control to refrain from wringing the young man's neck. _The fool has put on horse blinders shaped like elven ears and hasn't noticed at all!_ The timid yet yearning glances Kerda would cast in Thadd's direction as the lad passed by while he hummed and penned a song. The blush in Kerda's freckled cheeks each time Thadd halted in front of them to greet Irse and showcase his latest verse.

"Then you've never heard her sing," the elf challenged.

"Kerda… _sings_?"

Irse raised her chin and pinched the air like the connoisseurs of fine tapestries sold at the market. " _Exquisitely_. But I'm not surprised you don't know at all. Nobody does. She's quite shy about it, probably thinks no one's interested to hear. But…," the elf said, _readying the_ _hook_. "The _right verses_ might just be the thing to break her out of her shell and let the world at last hear that beautiful voice."

Thadd rubbed his jaw, and then his temple, clearly considering this new choice. Suddenly he straightened up and now seemed an inch taller, dejectedness replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. "What a shame if she keeps hiding like so. But if Kerda could finally see for herself how her singing is worthy, then it would make her happy, won't it?"

"It would, and very much," Irse prodded. "Although…"

"Although?"

The elf rolled her eyes. "Bifen might be keen on asking her as well."

"Bifen?" Thadd sputtered. "That lummox who said all minstrels are useless ponces and that songs and poetry are… in his own words – _dumb?"_

"Is there any other in all of Dearg?" Irse asked coolly, knowing her gamble wasn't entirely untrue. Bifen, the village braggart, notorious for crowing his manful ways, chasing after anything in a skirt, and rudely scoffing at all fancy frilly arts.

Thadd huffed, rolling up his sleeves with a flourish. "Kerda certainly deserves better than that hayseed brute! I'm glad you told me right away!" Wasting no further second, he bid them farewell and left the smithy with purposive haste.

Her Teacher waited until Thadd left the trail and walked off to the village street. Okami then turned to his apprentice and with a silent nod, lauded her _._

Irse twirled the bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, clasped the side of her trousers with the other and mock-curtsied in return.

Then _sneezed._

* * *

"Avante! Avante!"

"Arrière! Arrière!"

"Are your simple minds so uncomprehending you cannot tell the difference between advancing forward and retreating backward?" Mistress Jocey shrilled at the rows of young men and women before her.

 _Why not simply say 'front' and 'back' so everyone understands,_ Irse wondered as she sat by the refreshments table and chewed biscuits in time with the dancers' confused shuffling, grateful to be out of range of the bifocaled banshee's screeches, sharp and cutting in the cool air of a spring evening.

Primped in dark velvet robe, pearls in the ears and graying hair, peacock feather fan swishing ferociously in her hand, the grave dame surveyed her charges with immense dissatisfaction. Decades of instructing the offspring of noble houses on the high art of courtly dance left her with little patience for imperfection. Mistress Jocey walked around, nay, prowled among them, seeking the graceless, smacking them on the head for each misstep.

Irse winced as she watched. And munched. Overjoyed at learning of Kerda and Thadd partnering for the Maycircle, the elf volunteered to watch and – for all knew how practice sessions with Mistress Jocey were quite the ordeal, to offer cheer and encouragement.

Of course, doing so went not without effort, and therefore required nourishment. Done with the handful in her mouth, Irse reached out to the side to collect another biscuit when she suddenly yelped and drew back her hand.

The girl rubbed at the sore spot and looked up, shrinking back from Mistress Jocey who now loomed over her, leather riding crop in hand. _How did the old lady get around here so fast?_

"You, _elf!_ If you persist in your rapacious indulgence in the fruits of my larder, then I recommend you make yourself useful and contribute your labor to the effort!"

"Uh, what do you want me to do, Ma'am?"

"Go to the shed behind my house and fetch me wooden stakes and rope. To remain within the straight and narrow, these floundering halfwits must be disciplined most severely."

Irse's eyes widened. _This mincing madwoman is going too far._

"Maybe you'll get the dancers to follow you better if you offer kind words and an extra helping of biscuits," she suggested.

"Instead of beating and choking them?" Irse added. _Because nobody ever enjoys that_ , she'd bet on it.

"What are you gabbling about? I need the wooden stakes and rope to lay down markers in the ground to guide the dancers to keep their ranks straight!" the dance mistress barked at her.

"Oh," Irse mumbled, wondering how she thought of the former instead.

Through a cobbled path she walked around the house and into the backyard where the shed stood, bordering the woods. Freshly whitewashed and the paint barely dried. Of course, trust the prim and stuffy old hawk to spruce up her nest as soon as spring arrived and ahead of everyone else. Some of the boys she hired to make repairs at the house and shed had complained – a relentless and exacting taskmaster Mistress Jocey was. No surface left unpainted, undusted, unfixed.

Irse came upon the shed and paused. _Broken door._

Ajar and peeking ahead of the jamb, the plank barely hung from its upper hinges. Eyes swept across the immediate ground. By the light of the lantern in her hand, the turf appeared disturbed, but the prints could've been made by the hired hands who had painted the shed.

Yet thoughts slipped back to the whisperings among the dancers and rumors of recent thievery. Irse laid down the lantern. Fingertip at the edge, she pulled the door towards herself and cupped an ear by the narrow opening, hoping to catch a faint echo of another's breathing. _Nothing._

Left hand slid down to the bokken at her side. Surely something or someone already waited inside, likely ready to spring upon any intruder.

Perhaps it would be wiser to return to the others, inform the village watch of her suspicions, get them to come over and inspect for themselves. She turned her sight back to the manor. Then again, did she truly wish to face Mistress Jocey without the precious all-important rope and stakes? A vision of the biscuits shimmered in the mind's eye… and the dreaded leather switch hovering above them.

Irse breathed in and steeled herself. No sense anymore in sneaking in, for whoever lay in wait within would've already seen the light from the open door. Instead, she grasped the side of the door and its handle.

 _If you have not the advantage then seek to remove that of the enemy,_ her Teacher's words resounded in her mind as she tugged with deliberate and controlled force until the hinge gave out. Irse pulled the door off its frame and leaned the board against the shed wall. _There, this should prevent her from getting trapped within while depriving the thief of the cover of darkness._ Bokken drawn in defensive _chudan_ , she stepped partway in and waited for the eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Inside, broken furniture lay piled everywhere with some space to stand.

Like the musty air surrounding her, Irse remained still. Waiting.

Movement gusted from the side. She pivoted and struck with the bokken, feeling wood connect with something firm. It grunted, deep and in anger. Somewhat a head above the elf, draped in a raggedy shroud. A glimpse of veiny knuckles and fingernails like small talons. _Likely not human._

Quickly the practice sword swung back, landing on a hunched shoulder. But instead of retreating, the enemy continued to advance and claw at her. The elf skirted from each strike, countering with the bokken. With a pitched frustrated roar, the creature bull-charged at her. Irse sidestepped but it reached out with arms long enough to grab at the elf.

Irse felt herself nearly lifted from the earth, sharp nails digging into shoulder as it pushed and crashed her against a large wardrobe. Termite-chewed wood broke into slivers and dust on impact. She crumpled inside the cabinet, coughing. The creature bent down to reach for her once more, but the elf instinctively curled up both legs and kicked out, feet hitting it squarely in the chest. It sent the enemy staggering backwards and Irse used the opening to scramble out. _The door._ If she could make it through, get in the clearing to better face the creature…

And then it threw a chair.

It hit the elf in squarely in the back, throwing her off balance. Irse tripped face-forward, glancing at the catapulted armchair as it tumbled beside her. Rotten luck that it got her with one of the better-made hardwood antique types. Groaning, she hauled herself to her feet. The enemy lurked in the shadows, dithering. _Why isn't it attacking? Is it waiting for her to curtsy and waltz away?_

Then the creature charged once more. She reached down for the bokken, but instead her hands found one of the chair legs. _Will have to do._ The elf swung the chair at the monster. It broke apart, but the backrest had surely hit the enemy at the side of its head. It reeled in a daze, hitting a pile of broken furniture and fell to the ground, heaving in obvious pain. Irse looked down, a chair leg still in her hand, the torn end jagged and splintered. She flipped it, switching to a dagger grip. _Now, while it's still hurt._ The elf approached, pulling back for a stab.

A mewling wail broke out from a far corner. Both combatants froze at the sound.

The creature tried to rise, but the elf swung a foot right at its stomach. It doubled over and shuddered. With strength fueled by rage, Irse dragged and slammed it against a heap of jumbled wood.

"A human baby! Did you steal it from here? And you're about to eat it, huh?" she spat, stepping hard on one of the creature's hands, her arm against its throat and the chair leg trained at the face.

"N-no… not a man kid," the creature mumbled in a voice deep, rumbling. _And female_.

"Mine… mine," it added, choked. The monster looked up, shaking her head to loosen the cowl from her face.

Irse gasped at the sight, sure at having seen such features from somewhere. _Drawn on the pages of an old and battered copy of the Bestiaries bought from a book stall._ Rust red skin, wide pointed ears, sloping forehead, flat and broad nose, upturned jaw, fangs jutting through leathery lips.

 _A hobgoblin woman._

"I know you have tribes, so where's the rest of your kin? Are you planning an attack on the village?" the elf questioned.

"No… no attack on humans. Only me, my kid. I yield. I yield. Let me go," the hobgoblin pleaded, if the gnarly tone could be deemed as such. "Elf. Let me go. My kid and I hungry for days. Not lot of food."

Irse tightened her grip on the chair leg, biting her lip. _Unarmed and with a starving child_ , it seemed. What if this one merely feigned surrender, seeking for an opening? Yet she knew, had it been her Teacher or her foster father in her stead, they would let this one go free.

Still keeping the chair leg trained at the other woman's face, Irse pulled back. Immediately, the hobgoblin scrambled for where her child lay hidden. From behind a crate, the mother lifted a swaddled babe. The elf tossed the chair leg away, fetched the lantern and found her bokken, then approached them. She observed the mother as the latter cooed, more like grunted, to calm the little thing.

"May I see?" Irse requested gently.

The mother grinned with pride, lips stretching to reveal a row of pointed teeth before gently kissing the top of the baby's head. "Aye, my kid. Born during the snow melt. Small now, but someday a warchief strong and tough."

Hers without a doubt, for the child sported reddish-pink skin, triangular ears, a button nose and chubby cheeks. The hobgoblin baby yawned like a newborn puppy, small gums empty except for one tiny fang poking through. Irse beamed. Indeed, an adorable wee little terror.

"Hey there, li'l fella'," the elf whispered and wiggled her fingers.

The child looked up, beady yellow eyes wide. Irse crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and pinched her cheeks. The little goblinoid stared at her for a moment before its face scrunched as it started to cry.

Irse quickly covered half of her face. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. It shouldn't come as a surprise that their kind would find elves downright ugly and horrifying.

Mother hushed the child, cradling the little one closer to herself as she tugged up at her cloak and tunic to feed him. Eagerly, the baby latched at the teat, but not long it turned away and whimpered. _Too hungry and weak to caterwaul like the nine hells as babies should._ Sighing, the hobgoblin pulled down her shirt and resumed rocking the baby.

"No milk if no food to eat."

Irse blinked, a realization alighting upon her. Hobgoblins are known for their strength, ferocity, and endurance. That this mother had been weakened by starvation for an entire winter might be the only reason why the elf still sat there breathing and in one not-too-battered piece, making funny faces for a hobgoblin baby.

It would appear she had been separated from her clan, one among the handful often spotted in the Reaching Woods. Inadvertently crossing the stretch of the Dusk Road between Berdusk and Asbravan right at the onset of winter, hiding from the worst of the cold in the burrows of the sparser woodland bordering Dearg. With the snow melting, she could try and make her way back to her tribe, but with a child to care for, food and safety from the elements now occupied her priorities.

"Nothing but rabbit and rat I find in hiding holes," the mother murmured. "Got here to your village. Take chicken or two one night. Wait a day. Do it again, take kid goat. Tried to take pig but them's squeal too loud, almost caught by human."

"You're the thief who's been going around, breaking down barn doors and tearing up chicken coops," Irse concluded.

"Yes. But never hurt any human here. Don't want to make them angry."

"The village watch are patrolling at all hours now," Irse disclosed. Round-the-dial surveillance must have kept the hobgoblin from making another attempt in the past couple of days.

"They'll catch you for sure if you stay here any longer. You must leave right away."

"How, elf? I hunt, I make trap. But not many big game in woods near this place. Maybe I try one more human house before we go."

"No. Don't gamble with your life. If they capture you, they won't be as forgiving," Irse warned, grasping the other woman's arm. "I can't give you anything right now since this isn't my house. But if you come to the smithy, I'll be sure to pack you something for the journey, even if just for half a tenday's worth."

"Where is smithy?"

Irse paused for a second, considering how best to give directions to someone who couldn't take the village road.

"From here, do you know of the creek behind this barn? Follow it northwards, stay away from any of the houses along the bank. Walk until you come upon two cottages with red shingles, joined to each other. Wait past moondark. I'll leave food and anything else you might need among the stones of the stream."

The hobgoblin woman clutched the babe to her chest, a puzzled expression on her face. "Why you do this, elf? Our people are enemies."

Irse leaned back, surprised at the specific charge. "Oh, we are? I suppose I didn't catch that."

She might have missed the entry under the section on racial enemies for hobgoblins in the _Bestiaries_ \- more interested in what they ate. Elves didn't figure in the list, anyhow. Perhaps because they don't taste like chicken.

 _Indeed, why help them at all?_ Why not pretend to promise aid and then alert the village watch, have the men lie in wait by the smithy? The little one napping in her arm will one day grow to become a warrior of their tribe. How many innocent folk he might slay in a raid – and will the fallen be counted as blood on Irse's hands because she allowed them to leave in peace? Are they nothing more than monsters, savage creatures?

Savage creatures capable of thought and making a choice – _just like her_.

Irse grinned and rubbed her nose. "Sure doesn't change my mind about helping you."

The woman nodded thoughtfully. "You have honor, elf. I knows all think we don't have it, but we know honor, respect too in our tribe. You defeat me today in fair fight. You could kill me and my kid but you did not."

"Aww, who would want to hurt a wee one like him, anyway?" Irse teased. She rose to her feet. "I must return to my folk now. Do as I say and I promise all will be well."

The elf looked around, seeking anything which might pass for marking stakes and a ribbon. She settled for the lengthier pieces of the broken armchair, stepping on the jointed parts and prying off the coil-carved armrests, the legs, and whatever remained of the backrest. Now for a rope. None could be found, but she chanced on a dusty lace cloth rolled up in a corner. Delicate enough to be ripped up with bare hands. Irse tore the fabric into several lateral strips. With everything gathered and bundled, she waved at the hobgoblin mother and turned to leave.

Once outside, Irse teetered for a moment and leaned against the wall. With the rush of battle fading down, each ache and scrape made itself felt. The elf chuckled. Three years of getting smacked around with a bokken and starting this year with the unsharpened edge of an _iaito_ , a practice steel sword, and now she'd dare complain of getting walloped with a mere chair and a cabinet.

Irse closed her eyes and breathed in, stretching and kneading where she could reach at her back. She checked her clothes, frowning with distaste at the dust and smudges. Nothing to be done about them for now. The elf shrugged her shoulders, allowing herself to loosen and relax, then walked back to the courtyard.

* * *

"Swamp rats?" Mistress Jocey shrieked.

Irse grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of her ear. "Lots of them in there, Ma'am. The size of cats. On account of the creek behind your shed. Chased them around a bit, tried to get them out from under the stuff. Nasty things with mighty teeth. You should see what they did to the door. Chewed right through the jamb and ruined the wood where the hinges are. I took it down to make sure it doesn't fall on anyone."

"Disgusting creatures! And those incompetent laborers should have thought to check for holes in the wall," the woman hissed. "Where are the wooden stakes and the rope I require for the position markers?"

"I gave them to Elman. He said he'd know where to put them," Irse replied, pointing to one of the participants, a young man going around and driving the wooden pieces into the ground at marked distances between the cluster of dancers, meticulously looping the torn lengths of the flimsy fabric around each stake.

Mistress Jocey huffed and waved her off dismissively. With glee Irse rushed for the refreshments table. And just in time for the newly replenished trays of biscuits! And now with dinner rolls! Eyes kept trained on the participants and Mistress Jocey from afar, the elf's hands feverishly worked at pinching off rolls and scones.

"Chauntea! What happened to you?" Kerda gasped, approaching from the side of the table. Thadd accompanied her, his own eyes wide at the sight of the disheveled elf

Irse twitched in surprise and violently shushed her friend. "Got tangled with swamp rats in the shed," she fibbed, hands resuming their task. "Hey, lend me your apron, will you? I'll wash and bring it around your house tomorrow."

Unquestioningly, Kerda hastily untied her apron, handing it over to the other girl. Irse gathered the corners into a makeshift sack and tossed in the filched buns she had piled on the side.

"You're not staying?" Thadd said, eyebrow raised at the now empty trays.

"I just remembered we took in new commissions today, all rushed. I should've left earlier. Addled of me to tell Teacher not to make supper anymore since I thought I'd be eating dinner here."

Thadd opened his mouth, clearly itching to say something about all the food the elf had already devoured earlier but Kerda elbowed him in the ribs. The young man snickered and winked down at the human girl. Irse noted the blush on her friend's face and smiled to herself, stuffing more of the bread into her own pockets.

"This should last me until dawn or-," Irse declared but her voice was cut off by an unholy shriek.

"The stakes! Are those pieces of my Aunt Jorla's antique Marsembian armchair? And this? This is no rope! This is my Grandmother's priceless Cormyrian lace tablecloth!" Mistress Jocey screamed, wrangling her hands over the markers.

Irse grimaced and tapped her friends' shoulders. "I must be off! See you 'round… whenever!" she blurted out, casting a mock salute at Kerda and Thadd's astonished faces. The elf slung the makeshift sack on the shoulder, dashed for the fence and leapt over, disappearing into the darkness like a hungry thief in the feastnight.

* * *

Just as well she had told him not wait up and make dinner for her. With Okami retiring earlier than usual, it left the kitchen dark and empty – the perfect stage for Irse to execute her plan. She crept up to the larder to pinch a piece of salted beef, two dried kippers, three small turnips; tossing everything with the filched bread into an old wicker basket.

The elf spied a crock pot on the stove. _So he did make supper!_ She still felt hungry – doing the dance mistress' bidding proved to be no walk in the shed. Irse lifted the cover, excitement replaced with confusion at the unfamiliar contents. Poked a finger into the mush and tasted, frowning. Unable to contain her curiosity, she lit a lamp and peered into the pot. Oat grains soaking in water? Why didn't her Teacher cook it right away?

Shrugging, the elf ladled a bowl for herself, sampled once more but nearly spat a mouthful. Just as one would expect raw oats in water to taste like. Odd that he would make something and leave it unfinished. Irse returned to the larder, rooting among the condiments until she found the honey jar. Three spoonfuls did the trick. As the last scoop left the bowl, inspiration hit her.

Finding a sizable empty biscuit tin, Irse stirred in a bit more of the honey into the porridge, if it could be called as such, and poured everything into the container. She sealed the tin as tight as possible and tucked it in the basket. Everything set!

Irse then sat in her room, watching the candle, waiting until moondark. At the appointed hour, she sneaked out, walked to the stream and sought among the stones at the bank a good place to lay the food. On top of the basket she added an old blanket for the wee one, a roll of bandages and a small pouch of bloodstaunch. The elf stood at the bank for a while, squinting into the dark of the woods across the waters. Soon she imagined catching a glint, perhaps a pair of eyes peering through the shrubs. Irse waved her hands, turned around, and walked back to the cottage.

* * *

Out of bed she bounded, eager to check if the mother had truly taken the supplies. Unfortunately, someone else had been eager to check something at the kitchen.

Irse found her Teacher by the stove, contemplating the empty crock pot.

"Thanks for leaving out some supper," she said.

He looked up at her. "I had intended them to be our breakfast today."

The elf scowled, disbelieving. "That was breakfast? Who makes breakfast at night instead of in the morning? And why was it still raw?"

"And you ate them even though you knew them to be raw."

She twiddled her fingers. "I know I said we were having dinner at Mistress Jocey's, but I was still hungry."

"You could have woken me, and I would have prepared a true meal."

"I didn't want to bother you," Irse said as she sat at the table and tapped at the bowls. "Say, why were you soaking raw oats at night? Couldn't you have simply cooked them in the morning?"

"I thought this method would save time and effort. Rather than expend an hour boiling and stirring the oats, they recommended soaking the grains through the course of the night. In the morning, they will have softened sufficiently for immediate consumption with milk or honey," Okami justified.

Irse sighed. He must have stumbled into another those weird culinary pamphlets at the books stalls.

"Time spent preparing the oats could have been time spent working on Mister Kagain's commissions which a messenger gave only this morning," Okami mused. "As I anticipated."

The elf groaned. Apparently, last night's fib about having much work to do turned out to be a jinx. Not entirely a surprise. The crusty rock crab's rushed spring orders were a habit of his. Warming weather meant merchant caravans taking to the road again and mercenary escorts needing new or repaired gear. Old pinchpenny could have tasked them to work all winter so that everything would be ready by spring. But _no_ , he just had to send his orders right at the start of the season and demand them within the week. In other words, another week of laboring without rest throughout the day and well into the night.

"Teacher! Why are we dallying at making breakfast? Start the fire, I'll wash the pot at the stream," Irse volunteered, springing from her seat to snatch the pot from Okami's hands and run outside and straight for the brook.

Quickly she scrubbed and rinsed the pot, casting watchful glances around, rushing to the spot where she left food for the hobgoblin mother. _Gone,_ she sighed with relief. Then blinked.

In their place lay a bundle of wildflowers, tied loosely with sweetgrass. A thank-you offering.

Irse smiled as she bent down and picked them up from the stone slab. She returned to the cottage, bearing the flowers in her hand with care, as if they were a finely crafted sword.

While waiting for breakfast, the elf went to the smithy's window and examined the biscuit tin upon the sill. It had been empty for a few days since the bouquet from Thadd had finally wilted. Gently the new blooms were set into the tin, arranged to let each bud and petal stand out, sweetgrass divided into varying lengths and inserted to fill in the spaces.

Irse flicked at one of the petals. Satisfied, she breathed in the faint sweetness and watched as sunlight and breeze danced with the wildflowers at the windowsill.

* * *

 _Springy Scribblings:_

And there, the failed experiment of Okami's Overnight Oats. XD


End file.
